


An insane nutjob and a deaf projectionist

by Pangolin_404



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Deaf Character, Give Jack Fain his hat back, I don't know how old projectionists work, I don't know if I should tag The Projectionist as Norman, M/M, Past Violence, Rated teen because Sammy has no filter, Resurrection, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Tags May Change, The Projectionist barely has object permanence, The Projectionist is hard of hearing, and he has that ink addiction, if that makes sense, no beta we die like men, past death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24403342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pangolin_404/pseuds/Pangolin_404
Summary: Sammy was angry, confused, and shaken. He was left alone, without a purpose, after his god had tried to kill him. He wanted to be useful, to not sink into the ink, so he gave himself a new meaning: to hunt the demon down, and put an axe in his head.It was going nowhere, until he tripped over a leaky projector.(This is much less serious than it sounds! Nothing is thought out! I can't find enough Sammy/the Projectionist content, so I made it myself)(Edit: This is being rewritten completely! A new story will be made separate to this in due time!)
Relationships: Sammy Lawrence/Norman Polk, Sammy Lawrence/The Projectionist
Comments: 34
Kudos: 96





	1. Chapter 1

Sammy was bored.

He knew he shouldn't be bored. He had a task, a mission! He had an axe and he fully intended to hit his old god over the head with it. But it had been...some time. Days? Days, at least. Weeks at most, of walking blindly through the studio. Down stairs and halls and wading through ankle-deep ink pits. The Searchers didn't bother him now. Perhaps because the Ink Demon had thrown them into a rage on that fateful day, and now they saw him as one of them, or perhaps a Lost One. He wasn't, and yet was glad they were blind to that. He was his own...thing. He wore clothing and a mask, and he could _think_ , unlike them. Disgusting, vile creatures, those things were...

His thoughts were derailing more and more often now. He couldn't afford to be forgetful now. He had a goal, a purpose. He would kill the Ink Demon. Yes, that thought comforted him, yes he would get revenge. But his old god moved quickly, unpredictably. Appearing and disappearing at a moment's notice. Wandering and staring at the same wooden walls and inky floor made him bored.

Thankfully, he'd noticed a trail. The sheep- _Henry_ \- left utter chaos in his wake. Broken planks, splatters of ink and dead Searchers, dents in the walls from whatever was being used as a weapon, it all left a trail. Wherever the sheep was, surely the Ink Demon would follow. Sammy believed he wanted the sheep dead for intruding and meddling.

The trail was old. Sammy didn't know how long he had been laying there after the betrayal. He didn't know how long it had been until his body had begun sewing itself together again, until the Searchers stopped poking and pulling and making sounds at him. Sammy traveled quickly- he didn't need sleep- to catch up.

So quickly, he didn't notice the projector lying on the floor.

He tripped over it and fell into a puddle of ink with a muffled yell. The taste of it briefly made his thoughts go fuzzy and the pain fade. Then he told himself that now was not the time to get drunk off of ink, and he tried to stand.

He backed up, now seeing what he fell over. Dull pain shot through his shins, but it would fade. Pain wasn't going to deter him, nor was a stray piece of film equipment.

He recognized it. He didn't know how or why, but that particular projector brought back a memory. An old memory, a very unhappy and painful one.

_It was early, early after everything had gone awful. Sammy wasn't used to his new body. He was still distressed, in a near hysteria. His memories had been much more jumbled then. Scrambled thoughts of now and the past and the future. Of what would happen and what had happened._

_Sammy Lawrence was running. There was no real point to it- he just had to run. He had to be doing something, to get somewhere. Freedom was a distant dream that was given up on. He was in danger. He was being attacked. Everything in the studio wanted to kill everything else, like an unbalanced ecosystem with too many predators. Sammy was too sane and too cowardly to fight- he wasn't a living, durable cartoon like that damn trio. He wasn't mad like the Searchers or desperate like the Lost Ones. He was him, and he was scared._

_He had stumbled across a staircase. The room was different back then. It wasn't caked in ink, but the pipes were leaking. There was nothing moving in sight. That was all Sammy wanted, was to be alone._

_He thought he was going into a hall. A hall to hide away in, to be safe and out of sight and out of harm. The hall was a maze. A maze of projections of looping cartoons that nearly drove him mad just by existing. He got lost. He kept thinking, thinking so much his head hurt. He thought about how much time had past- only a few minutes, but it felt like hours he was skidding around there._

_Sammy had thought it was just another projection. Another cartoon. But it was blank. A blank screen that moved, that bobbed slowly. He had run right into it, right into that goddamn_ Projectionist _._ _It screamed at him. It was an awful static shriek that sent him sprinting in the opposite direction. Oh how that noise haunted him for days in the back of his mind, until he forgot about it._

He snapped back to reality. He had been standing still. He didn't know how long- it was hard to tell time. Sammy knelt down before the projector. Yes, this was _the one_ , leaking and spurting ink from the base, torn wires and film reel dangling from the back.

That was _it_ , that was the Projectionist. The lumbering, slow brute that chased him out of the maze. Sammy picked it up. It was heavy. The lightbulb was broken. He wondered if it was dead. He didn't feel bad for it- it had tried to kill him a long time ago. He didn't forgive easily, even with the memory old and blurred. "What happened to you...?" his voice sounded rough and alien to him. He sometimes hummed, but that was all. He didn't speak much anymore.

He looked around the room. There was the Miracle Station, which had a projector-sized dent in the door. The wood was splintered. There was no body in sight. The walls had...a lot of ink on it. It was on the ceiling, too! More than the normal amount of ink. The demon was here. Sammy surveyed the room again. Dented Miracle Station, lots of ink, and a decapitated Projectionist.

He concluded that something had killed the Projectionist rather gruesomely, threw the head for good measure, and dragged the body away. Henry was old, Sammy vaguely recalled. He looked tired and he rarely spoke above a monotone voice. He could wield an axe just fine, but he was by no means _buff_...nor did he seem to contain the determination to drag a corpse.

The Projectionist was tall. Taller than Sammy, and Sammy was a tall person. He remembered a reel lodged deep in its shoulder. Its legs were muscular and its speaker-chest was broad. It was probably heavy. No way could the sheep drag the body... Why drag it in the first place? The sheer volume of ink... The _demon_ , he realized, the demon must've dragged it!

He internally praised himself for figuring that out, finding himself smiling for the first time in a long while. So the Ink Demon killed the Projectionist, threw its head at the door of the Miracle Station, and...dragged the body somewhere. Sammy didn't know why he was gripped with the urge to find it. It was something different, something interesting. And the demon might be nearby!

Sammy tucked the projector under one arm, telling himself that he could carry it just fine, and tightened his grip on the axe in his other hand. He didn't think twice about bringing the head with him.

The smear of ink was easy to see after a few feet, when the puddle of ink had begun to shrink. It was dark and old, like dried blood. The body had been dragged some time ago, down the hall and around a corner.

He followed it, not realizing he had begun to hum.


	2. Chapter 2

Sammy followed the ink trail, looking around the halls as he passed. The signs of the demon followed- leaky ceiling, squishy, ink soaked wooden floorboards. _Disgusting_ , Sammy thought, but he was used to it. The studio wasn't exactly clean. Even the ink could have dust gather on it if nothing disturbed it for a few days. But the trail was sticky and sludge-like- almost dry, but not quite.

He went back to following the trail. He rounded a corner, and saw it ended. Against a wall, somewhat melted, was the Projectionist.

It was somewhat _in_ the wall, Sammy realized. Just part of one hand, sunken into it and gone. Only primarily untainted ink could travel like the Ink Demon and other such pure beings. The Searchers were so gone that they could melt and reappear, and so could most Lost Ones. Sammy had non-ink material on him- so, no traveling through portals of ink. The Projectionist was...not pure. Film and wire and reels sticking out. Clothing, barely visible, stuck and sank into its body. His god had tried to take it away, and couldn't.

He laughed to himself, strangely gleeful the demon had failed at something. Sammy approached the slumped body and pulled it free with some effort. It made a sucking noise as it slid out of the dark stain on the wall. Where its head had been, thick wires protruded. They still dripped ink. He let his axe lean against the wall and set the projector on where the head once was. He pressed the wires into its back.

There! Fixed, right?

Apparently not. Nothing happened. Sammy sighed, crouching to get a good look at the body for a moment longer. "Ah. The light." he mused. Of course. The bulb was broken. It was worth a shot to replace it. Things here didn't tend to stay dead, so it could probably be fixed and revived.

He looked around the hall. It was mostly empty, besides having a few offices. He decided to look around them. Lightbulbs were probably common, right? Things broke all the time in the studio.

While he started prying open boxes and drawers, his mind wandered. The Projectionist was not a cartoon, if it couldn't be fully pulled into a wall. But it had some give, so it had lost some of its mind, like a Lost One. But it was mutilated, and he never recalled it speaking...not that speaking signaled intelligence here. The Butcher Gang spoke sometimes. The Projectionist only made that horrid static sound. Was it once a human, like Sammy? He didn't remember much before the ink, but he knew that most of the beasts here were once comprehensible people. Whatever the Projectionist was, it wasn't a toon. It was a _he_ , he concluded. But person or not, he was mad, he was a brutal creature who Sammy could control.

Yes, Sammy would control him. He'd have no choice- he would save him, after all! The Projectionist was nothing but a weapon, a mindless tool to kill the Ink Demon. Yes...yes, that sounded wonderful!

He shook himself from that fantasy, finding what he was looking for. An old, dusty box of lightbulbs. " _Perfect,_ " he murmured, barely above a whisper. He picked it up and carried it back to the Projectionist.

He looked different. The body had moved.

Not much, but Sammy noticed. The hands had been limp at its sides, but now they were shifted outwards, fingers spread out. The head was tilted up, whereas before it had been lolled to the side. The wires had shifted, any stray bits left before were now buried into the body.

It was _alive_. Sammy smiled. He knelt in front of him. He had to crouch to reach into the head, feeling for the end of the shattered bulb. " _Ow_ _!_ " Glass pierced his hand, and he shuddered almost violently at the feeling. Being stabbed felt different from the blunt force of being hit with a fist. He pulled his hand out, glass sticking to it, and shook it out before getting back to unscrewing the old bulb and replacing it. His hand still felt like it had tiny bits of glass soaked into it. Impossible to pull out, left until it leaked from his skin as the ink recycled itself throughout his body. Unpleasant, but not forever.

But the bulb was replaced. He stood back and watched for the slightest hint of movement. The Projectionist had pulled its wires back in place, and now it had a new bulb. What else could need tinkering? It was practically as good as new.

It moved. The Projectionist's head tilted forwards, drooping from side to side slowly. Sammy saw wires shifting in its nearly nonexistent neck, settling comfortably where they once were. "Yes...yes!" his voice was hoarse. He was practically yelling. "Finally! I've revived you, you horrible sheep! Rise before your savior-"

Its light turned on.

And it instantly blinded Sammy.

A new bulb meant a bright light, apparently. Sammy doubled over and stumbled back, covering the eyes of his mask. "OH, _FUCK_!" It burned! It had been years since any particularly bright light entered the studio beyond candles. He'd long since adjusted comfortably to the darkness, and this hurt like a bitch.

He heard groaning and white noise as the Projectionist stood up. His light moved from his face, and he dared look at his general direction. It still hurt to look at the Projectionist, and his eyes stung. He backed up more. The Projectionist made a droning, static noise and followed him, its steps heavy and lumbering. "Back up, I command you, as your _god_!" He was a god! He brought this thing back from death! He earned a little obedience for it!

The Projectionist shrieked at him, filling his head with numbing static. Sammy clasped his hands over his ringing ears. "STOP IT, YOU HORRID THING!" He struck the thing across the chest, missing his face. The Projectionist stood up straighter, towering over him, and punched him.

Sammy sprawled over the floor, seeing stars. He squinted up at the Projectionist, and was wise enough to stop moving. The Projectionist watched him, the bright light hurting his eyes. Sammy stayed frozen in place, his arms stiff at his sides. "Get away from me." he hissed.

He listened and spun around after getting a good look at him. He surveyed the room, hunched over with the weight of the projector. Sammy risked sitting up, eyeing his axe leaning against the wall. The monster shivered violently and turned back to him. They stared at each other in relative silence, save for the steady white noise coming from the speaker on the Projectionist's chest. Sammy slowly stood, not breaking eye contact, and reached for his axe.

The Projectionist didn't stop him. He just watched as he took it. "Don't you dare oppose me ever again, sheep. If you strike me, scream at me, or do anything else against me, I will take back the gift of life I-" he, as much as he hated it, nearly screamed when the Projectionist suddenly crouched and got inches from his face. "Do not do that!" He leaned away, reaching up to push him back.

He hissed at him and swatted his hand away. He stood up straight and tilted his head. He looked around again. He lost interest in Sammy, much to his displeasure. "Are you listening? Show me that you can hear me!" Sammy strode around to the spotlight to be sure he was being seen. "Speak, if you are able to!"

The Projectionist responded by buzzing at him. Not helpful, not a good sign. Sammy didn't know what to do. The thing barely seemed aware he was alive, and incapable of following instructions. Was he just stupid? Was Sammy wrong about using him as a weapon? He was strong, able to bring him down with one hand, so he'd be useful... He didn't want to give up on him. Not yet, after he's invested so much time into this.

He snapped his fingers at him. "Hey! Listen to me!" he hissed. The Projectionist just looked at him with a tilted head. "Are you deaf or something?! Respond!"

Something clicked in his head. Sammy scrutinized him for a moment. "You _are_ deaf, aren't you?" He had a projector for a head...of course he couldn't hear well! "Damnit! Damn it all!" He threw his arms in the air, startling the stupid deaf sheep and nearly hitting him over the head with the axe. What could he do now? He couldn't communicate with him, so how could he use him? Horridly inconvenient…!

Sammy started pacing. "What to do, what to do?" he muttered, letting the axe drag. The Projectionist watched him. The white noise was not helping him think! He could only think in silence! He got irrationally pissed off. "Oh, shut up!" he snapped. Nothing happened, of course. The Projectionist's light followed him as he walked.

"Ah...yes! Since you are useless...you will be bait. Yes, yes perfect!" Sammy declared. "I will lure the Ink Demon out with you, and I'll kill him myself!" A perfect plan. Flawless! He was so smart. He chuckled. "Oh, little sheep..."

He beckoned the Projectionist to follow him, and was immensely pleased when it followed him. The Projectionist was not a person in his mind anymore. Barely living. It was an item, a piece of meat for his god. A sacrifice. Where to begin the ritual? Where would be the ideal spot for the demon to appear? Somewhere comfortable, with lots of ink...

He returned to where he'd found the Projectionist's head. It didn't want to follow him here, starting to crackle and shake. "Oh, stop complaining!" He snapped. Fear was only wasting time! He observed the area. There were shoeprints, _tracks_ that were coming from elsewhere. The Projectionist wore shoes. Where _did_ it come from? Somewhere. Somewhere with lots of ink, based on how thick the tracks were. He was only now noticing them, with the Projectionist's light illuminating them from behind. So it could be useful, after all.

"Where did you come from?" Sammy muttered to himself. Somewhere perfect, somewhere ideal. Somewhere. "What did you do to piss off the Ink Demon?" Those questions could be answered later. He had more important things to do. He didn't really care what the Projectionist did.

He started retracing the tracks. After a high-pitched whine and a second of snapping static, he heard it follow again. Good sheep, figuring out who its shepherd was. The noise still greatly bothered him, but he would deal with it for now. They were on the right track. The sheep was soon to be sacrificed. He would kill the demon. Finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Sammy could try yelling louder at the Projectionist. That might do something!


	3. Chapter 3

Simply walking with the Projectionist drove Sammy up the wall.

Lots of the things it did were annoying. At first, at least. He was slowly adjusting to the constant white noise, but the occasional pop and crackle would still make him jump and look around for signs of a collapse or angry monster. The studio was barely held together by a prayer at some places. He was only just starting to not be blinded by its light, though ever since the Projectionist began walking ahead of him(it ignored him trying to get it to go back behind him) it did make for a useful flashlight.

Nothing seemed to bother them. The Searchers would stay slumped in their puddles like the vermin they were. They seemed startled by the Projectionist's light, and he could understand that. It must seem jarring to the little, scrambled minds to see strong light after so long.

The Projectionist seemed like it knew where it was going. It was following the trail without looking down and ignored other halls and rooms. Sammy was impressed it could think at all, honestly, let alone remember where it came from. Was it that horrid maze? He didn't remember it well...it had been a long, long time since he wandered in there, but he remembered it was one of the more dry parts of the studio, only with puddles in the cracks and corners. He doubted they were heading towards it. Everything here wandered aimlessly. Maybe it merely sat in an ink fountain or something.

The Projectionist had stopped suddenly at a wooden platform, and he nearly ran into it. A staircase on either side led down to the somewhat familiar projectionist room. Sammy stepped out from behind it. He barely recognized it. The shape of the room was the only thing that seriously rang a bell. "...oh dear."

It was hell.

A floor caked in ink. Swarms of Searchers and even Butcher Gangs crowded there. Dozens more packed into the maze and unseen numbers beyond. He'd never seen so many monsters in one place before. They were shifting like a mass of bees in a hive, constantly moving and murmuring.

They turned to look up at them when the Projectionist's light shone over them. It was searingly bright, illuminating each of their faces. Some of the Searchers tried to cower away, but it was so full that it barely made a dent. The Butcher Gang, who actually had faces for the most part, had enough emotion to look startled. The Projectionist had ceased moving, its whole body tense and stiff. Then, it let out a deafening shriek that was so high-pitched and almost human it _really pissed everything off_.

It crossed the distance between them and literal hell in two strides. It practically jumped, landing on the bottom set of stairs and shattering the wood. It was still screaming, making Sammy's head buzz with a headache. He'd heard so much static lately it _hurt_. He still got to see every inky being in the room loose its mind and rush at the Projectionist in a blind rage.

The Projectionist swung one powerful arm _through_ a Searcher, taking its torso clean off of the floor and sending globs of ink flying, hitting several monsters and earning more shouting and snarling. It grabbed a Striker and popped its head off, only to throw it at another poor Searcher. and drive it into the floor. It kicked and stamped on a Piper, knocking it down and essentially making it explode in a gory mess. The Projectionist rampaged through the mob, shrieking all the while. It was twitchy, the light spasming back and forth across the room, as if it was struggling to take it all in.

Sammy was so distracted and baffled and horrified all at once, he didn't see the Fisher until it hit him.

It nearly brought him down. He swore under his breath and raised his axe above his head. He swung down, missing the disgusting head and hitting it at the base of the pole. It cracked, it and the head nearly falling off. The Fisher shrieked and grabbed at his arms, so he kicked it for good measure. _Disgusting! Disgusting, they all were! Useless, mindless, savage vermin!_

Something- he didn't see what- slammed into him and knocked him into the chaos.

Sammy definitely screamed, but couldn't hear it over the combined noise in the room. He blindly swung the axe, missing any strikes that would actually hurt them and just hitting what he could reach. He cut into arms and chests and got scratched and bit in return. Searing, alien pain shot through him. He didn't remember being attacked before. Not like this. _Don't remember the last time this happened to you,_ a voice in his head whispered. "Back away, I command you! I will kill you all!" He hissed, grabbing one and shoving it into the wall of grabbing hands. He was yanked by his suspenders and shoved onto his back. One was on top of him, snapping at his face. "HEY!"

He clutched his axe tight and tried to stand, starting to really freak out. He was being swarmed and the Searchers had a hold on his legs, keeping him on his back. They were starting to make an awful gargling sound when he wasn't being dragged into the inky depths. He panicked at the thought of being pulled down, down into the endless sea of screaming and begging. He's come close. _Not again. Never again._ His axe was ripped from his hands- he barely felt it- and was swallowed into the wall of beasts. He could barely see- ink was everywhere either from the floor or from the injured creatures or himself. Something struck him hard in the face. There was a sharp _crack_ that echoed in his mind and something tore his mask off. His hands flew to cover his face and a violent tremor went through him.

"Let go! No, stop! Stop it! Let go, let go, _let me go_ -" Sammy's voice cracked in a wheeze, dying out in his throat. He could only squirm away from the hits, not daring uncover his face, and if he still had a heart it would be beating painfully hard in his chest. His breath caught in his throat and he nearly blacked out from panic.

Something lit up his peripherals painfully brightly and he heard a squish, followed be a Searcher shrieking in pain. He sat up the moment he could, doubling over and prying his legs free from the ink only to pull them to his chest. He curled in on himself, a festering feeling within him. Fear, fear that he had nearly been killed. The Projectionist was _loud_ and it was a _blessing_. As horrifying as it was, Sammy found it familiar and comforting. It would kill the things trying to tear him apart. He'd be fine, he'd live! That was what mattered for now. He lowered his hands a little, daring to peer up at-

The Projectionist grabbed him up by the neck, lifted him(and cutting off his air supply) and threw him into a wall.

He blinked, dizzy and not really aware of what had just happened, and looked up to see what could only be described as a graveyard. Lumps of dead and dying beasts sinking back into the ink. The few spared were running, retreating into the ink until barely a ripple remained. He looked up and the Projectionist was there. It was standing over him, and it was covered in ink. Essentially blood. He was still dazed and out of it from being thrown. It took him a moment to realize he was about to die. He raised his hands in a weak attempt to shield himself. He was exposed. No mask, no axe. All he could do was stare death in the face. "W-wait, wait, no, no! I am your savior! Don't you recognize me?! I-it's me, y-your _god_ , don't touch m-"

The Projectionist pulled back its fist and knocked his lights out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Sammy getting punched in the face was way funnier than it should've been. I was stuck between continuing and ending it. This chapter may be shorter that I'd like it to be, but the next one will be longer(hopefully)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Norman "never seen a mask before" Polk

_He had been confused from the beginning_.

_When he had first woken, he had been in pain. A constant, awful migraine that drove him mad. Shooting pain running down his neck and chest. He had been changed by something. He knew who did this to them(there were more, he knew there must be others), buried in his mind. It just hurt too badly to remember it._

_The slightest movement scared him. They were unfamiliar, popping in and out of his narrow field of view. Jerky movements, lunging and touching him. He didn't like the motion. Running and just looking around too quickly made him nauseous. He was vaguely aware that he could make noises. He couldn't_ hear _, but he felt a constant buzz in his chest and head. Whenever one of those horrid, shifting monsters emerged and he got angry, the buzz would get louder. It would ring in his head and echoed his raw rage at the mere sight of unwanted company._ _It had been an awful cycle for a long time._

 _Kill anything that moves. Hit them until they disappeared from his safe, inky abyss. Roam slowly, adjust to his awful, inky, mechanical body. Make sure everything was where it should be. Stave off boredom by fixing the projectors. He didn't know how he knew how to do that. It felt natural. Familiar, like he was meant to make sure the projectors were working. He was a projectionist- he's never seen anything else doing this, so he was also_ the _projectionist._

_It had been fine. For years, it had all been fine and unmoving, until something took an ink heart from him. He felt it. He didn't know how, but he felt it and it pissed him off._

_Again and again, he missed the thing that stole from him. He was hit and stunned for just long enough for it to run, or he missed its face by an inch, or lost sight of it just long enough for it to escape. Again and again, it would steal an ink heart. Until the thief stopped. It left once it stole what it wanted._

_He despised the thief. So he shambled out of his little haven, his motionless space long since abandoned by things that moved, and hunted it down. He never had anything escape with his things before. Nothing had ever stolen from him before. It disgusted him._

_He had chased it into a corner. He saw its wide-eyed face, partially hidden by the box it hid itself in, when he kept closing in. It didn't look like the other shambling things. Its face was free of ink, it had hair, it was different. And he would kill it. Different or not, it wronged him._

_Then the demon appeared._

_It looked like the cutouts and short animations of the little darling demon, but horrible. Gangly and thin, coated in thick ink. With its presence, ink dripped from the walls and ceiling. It grinned and punched him, briefly stunning him. He reeled around and punched it hard. He vividly remembered how it had stumbled back. He had never seen it before, but it threatened him, so it would have to be hit until it stopped moving. He could deal with it. He grabbed at it, trying to get in another good hit._

_Then it reached towards him, obscuring his vision. It wrapped its hand around his neck.. There was a searing flash of pain, and then there was nothing._

-

_He had woken up in darkness. No sound, no light. Where was his sight? It was a slugglish effort to move. He begun with his hands, then tipped his head back. It all hurt. He could feel, as uncomfortable as it was, as wires shifted in his neck and back. He could move. He was alive._

_Then something changed. He stopped moving to rest, everything still aching and sore, when something grabbed his head. He considered attacking, but didn't, and just sat still as something invaded his face. It was a horrid feeling._

_And that was when his light turned on, and he saw his savior. A tall_ thing _in suspenders and bearing the face of the demon. It covered its face against his light and stumbled down to the floor. Startling to both of them, it seemed._

_It turned out alright. The thing moved erratically and senselessly, but other than hitting him once and getting knocked down in response, he had assumed that was that. He was quickly preoccupied from it and looked around. Where was he? Where was the demon? The thief was gone. He was just...tired. He barely understood what happened, just that it had given him his sight back. It was a curious thing, wielding an axe for some reason. It jolted away whenever he got too close and paced and didn't act like a beast._

_He just wanted to go home. The thief could keep the ink hearts. No way to find it now, anyways. The demon...he disliked it. But the demon had made quick work of him. Had it killed him? He was back, now, and it felt strange. Nothing to he could do about that. He followed the stranger because it told him to. What else could he do? It was confusing but overall, harmless. He wanted to find his way to where he belonged again. It looked like it knew where to go._

_The thing led him away and they walked. And walked, until something clicked to him and he remembered where he should go. He walked past the thing, who generally put up a fuss but didn't try to stop him. He remembered were to go, so he decided to go home._

_He hadn't been there for a long time, by the state of things. Horrible distractions, a sea of shifting beasts. He looked around flittingly, taking in the mob. The buzzing he experienced constantly increased tenfold, and he promptly got to exterminating the movement._

_It was by no means fun to him. He didn't want his haven tainted. He just wanted it all gone. He wanted stillness, he wanted nothing. And the beasts remembered him. Some fled, some lunged. They were weak and easy to destroy, but still annoying._

_He noticed that the thing had followed him, and had been tackled into the arms of awaiting monsters. Poor creature, which didn't do anything to deserve their wrath. He had never noticed the ink monsters hostile to one of their own before. It put up a decent fight before going down from sheer numbers. He decided he should probably save it- it saved him, after all._

_The creatures tried to stop him. He hit them so hard they popped, or knocked their heads off, and made his way to the thing. It wasn't really a thing anymore. It needed a name, something he could remember it by. He ripped one inky monster off of it and threw it aside. He looked for the being who had saved him._

_Not there. He looked around, and yet there was no sign of it. It was just a Searcher laying there, covering its face._

_It sat up, shaking,_ moving _, and tried to stand. It looked at him. It was a Lost One, not a Searcher, but the difference didn't matter. He picked it up and threw it hard. He had to find the savior. His light flitted across the inky ground, across the walls, scanning the wooden platform. He saw something lying in an ink puddle- a Bendy head cutout that looked nearly cracked in half. The savior was nowhere to be seen._

_He saw the Lost One. It was sitting up, still trembling. It was still moving- what an inconvenience. He stormed towards it to finish it off. It looked up at him with horridly bright eyes and tried to shield itself. Its mouth was moving but he really didn't care._

_He punched it. It didn't immediately melt into the ink, into the well of voices. Even after several seconds ticked by, it just laid there. Only then did he notice it was wearing something. Normally that didn't stop the gross little monsters from behind reclaimed, but he specifically recognized it was the same suspenders that the thing wore. It was the same height as it, the same physique. It was..._

_Oops._

-

Sammy's head hurt.

It hurt to think. Just opening his eyes sent throbbing pain into his head. He was laying on his back in room-temperature ink. When he lifted his hand, it stuck somewhat to the ink. He groaned and sat up. He'd been moved- he was sitting away from the wall he'd been slumped against before... "What..." _His mask._ Where was his mask? His thoughts derailed and he turned around to start looking for it.

A bright light washed over him, and he covered his face. "YOU!" he blindly hit the air in front of him, and something grabbed his arm. The Projectionist yanked him up to his feet. "Agh- You horrible thing! You stupid animal! How dare you-" He pulled his arm free and stumbled back. How dare it hit him? After all he did for it?! "Is this how you treat your god?!"

It buzzed its static at him and reached out to him. Did it not feel guilt for what it did? Was it going to kill him? Sammy was seething. _Where was his axe?_ He might as well kill it before it hit him into next week again. That could've killed him! He backed away, and the Projectionist followed him. "Fuck off! I'll take back the gift of life I so generously gave you!"

He turned, a little shudder going through him. He would find his mask. It was nearby, it had to be. It was knocked off by one of those horrible brutes. He walked to roughly where he'd been brought down. The Projectionist set a hand on his shoulder and he jerked away from its touch.

He saw something- the edge of the head of a Bendy cutout, old and worn, half buried in the ink. He lifted it out. Only half of it came up, and he saw the other half a few feet away. The rubber band that actually made it a mask was in between the halves, splinters sprinkled around it. "...oh no."

He looked back at the Projectionist. Sammy stared at it for a long moment, really wanting to punch it. It reached towards him, as if to touch him again or _comfort_ him. "Don't you dare touch me." he muttered, looking away from it. It set a hand on him anyways, white noise filling his head.

He'd be fine. He wasn't dead. He still felt humiliated. What was he without his mask? He was just one of a hundred other creatures, with the same face, same body. He wasn't utterly feral like they were- no, he'd never stoop to that animalistic mindless anger and confusion. Never. He was still him. He was still Sammy....

( _did he have a last name? He couldn't remember. He felt like he should, but he just knew he was Sammy. He was just...Sammy.)_

He couldn't remember exactly when he began wearing the mask. Sometime after he started believing in the false god. Or was it before? He had believed the mask symbolized his belief in the Ink Demon. He wore it as a sign he was a worshipper, a shepherd. But...he had vowed to kill it. The mask was, by his own logic, no longer needed. He let it drop back into the thick, ink covered floor. He'd be okay without it.

That reminder put him greatly at ease. He exhaled softly, trying to ease his breathing. There...it would be fine. Everything would be okay. The plan was still technically going. What had gone wrong could still be fixed. He could still end his god, mask or no mask. He relaxed and went to fetch his axe.

The Projectionist lingered, picked up both halves, and tried to fit them together. It seemed upset that it didn't do anything.

Sammy grabbed his axe and twirled it, scanning the walls and ceiling. No sign of the Ink Demon. He looked towards the Projectionist. What did it do to piss it off in the first place? He'd need to get it to do that again. He now had proof it was a murder machine. It mowed down a room full of monsters and punted him into a wall. Strong indeed. He could probably coax it into ravaging the demon, or at least distracting it.

This was where it lived, right? Where it roamed before something lured it out to fight the demon. He could probably find something useful. Answers. He started trudging through the ink, which had gotten especially thick in places where multiple dead things had been piled atop each other. Gross.

"Oh, an audio log." Sammy hummed. He'd seen a few, but couldn't remember when he'd actually listened to any by himself. He had one or two of his own. _Can I get an amen?_ Haha...that had freaked the sheep out.

Killing the sheep was also a pleasing thought. It was no longer a sacrifice, but Henry had caused a great deal of annoyance. He could take his anger out on him.

He snapped out of his thoughts. Something crashed onto the floor and he head the Projectionist's static shriek. He looked behind him and saw light moving around a corner. Whatever it was doing, he wasn't interested. He turned back to the log. There was a strip of thick, yellow tape on its side that had "Norman Polk" written on it in marker.

He pressed play. A rough, southern voice began to speak.

_"Now, I'm not lookin' for trouble. It's just the nature of us projectionists to seek out the dark places. You see, I've learned the ins and outs of this here studio. I know how to avoid being bothered by the likes of this...company. 'That projectionist,' they always say, 'creeping around, he's just looking for trouble.' Well, trouble or not, I sees everything. They don't even know when I'm watchin'. Even whem I'm right behind 'em."_

"Oh, now that's dramati-"

Something clicked _loudly_ behind him and he whipped around, stifling a yell. "Fucking nerves...!" The Projectionist was nearby, messing with something on a table. There was another sharp click again, snapping...what was that? It was snapping a film reel onto a projector. Sammy had not the slightest clue what it was doing. "What the hell are you doing? Are you the projectionist that used to work here? Norman?" the name was...familiar.

Norman Polk, the studio's sole projectionist.

_He was a bright man._

Sammy blinked. Where did that thought come from? He rubbed his head, starting to get a headache. He was...Norman. The Projectionist had been...the projectionist. Norman Polk. He stepped away from the audio log, left with more questions than answers. What the hell happened to Norman? Did he...actually know him? From before? _Before what?_ Sammy chose to leave the questions be and went instead to see what the Projectionist was doing. It hurt to think about years past too hard.

It(He? He.) was bowing his head, messing with the reels and adjusting things. Sammy didn't know how projectors worked, but whatever the Projectionist(Norman?) was doing, he was doing well. He looked up, making Sammy's eyes sting with the light, and motioned him closer. "What are you doing?" he muttered, well aware talking to the thing was pointless. The Projectionist(now it felt strange to think of him as that.) grabbed him by the head and forced him to sit. He just let that happen- no point in complaining.

The projector turned on. It looked rather strange, seeing a monster with a projector for a head working on another projector. He wondered if _Norman_ thought it was strange, too. The projector was aimed at the wall and turned on.

The logo popped up first. _Production of Joey Drew Studios_. Oh, a Bendy cartoon. Sammy paused. He didn't know how he knew that for sure. Has he ever seen the little dancing demon in a show before? He couldn't remember. He's only seen the posters around the studio...a meager number of short, looping animations on the very first floor...he remembered music...yes, the music was what he remembered vividly. He's seen storyboards and drawings on desks... Has he ever watched a cartoon in full? It made his head hurt. Just looking at the short sent a dull pain behind his eyes.

Norman was...could he even be happy? Could he feel? He had sat beside him, knees pulled up to his chest and hugging himself. His light shined over the cartoon, making it all brighter. He somehow seemed content. He seemed undisturbed, unlike how Sammy suddenly wanted to look away. It made him feel ill.

The soundtrack of the short picked up, and it made his head hurt. He started to stand. Norman tried to grab him and pull him back down, and he jerked out of his hold. He just shook his head and picked up his axe. A sad buzz came from the speaker, but Sammy ignored it. He had things to do. No time for watching cartoons. Let it cool Norman off and keep him from flying into a rage at anything that moves.

He had to anger the demon. He shook his head, as if to get rid of the migraine, and it didn't really help. He pondered how to get him out of hiding. Norman wasn't helping, but he was sure he would be when the fighting started.

Sammy noticed a Bendy cutout against a wall. He tilted his head, getting an idea. He had once worshipped those. He had drawn sigils behind them and left offerings and candles. He heard bad things happened when they broke, so he had kept them in good shape. Where had he heard that? Had the Lost Ones whispered it? An audio log? No matter where he heard it, he'd use it to his advantage. It was worth a shot.

He raised his axe above his head, hesitated, and let doubt and guilt swallow his conscience for a moment. He forced the thoughts aside, shut his eyes, and swung the axe it down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> probably should've split this into another chapter sooner  
> oop it's gonna get messy


	5. Chapter 5

There was a sharp _crack_ as his axe cut into the face of the cutout. Sammy shuddered and opened his eyes, yanking his weapon out.

Shocking to himself, he didn't feel disgusted. The guilt was replaced by...glee. Raw, childish glee. It went straight to his head. He chuckled and kicked the cutout, snapping it at the torso. He giggled and looked for another cutout to destroy. They were all over the studio- there had to be a couple more in here.

_There_. Sammy strode towards it, passing Norman, who turned the projector off and moved to watch him. He made a mildly alarmed noise when Sammy cut its head off. He felt viscerally satisfied. He grinned and hacked it up, kicking the chips into the ink.

He didn't bother with using his axe at the next one he saw. He just snapped the head off with his bare hands, then broke it over his knee. He'd begun laughing softly to himself. "Hahaha... Can you feel that, demon?!" he yelled at nothing. It felt positively _euphoric_ to defy and annoy his god. "Come out! Come out and fight me! You couldn't kill me the first time, you can't kill me now!"

He heard a heartbeat. Soft, then quickly approaching and getting louder It was a dark, pulsating sound. The Ink Demon was closing in quickly. He remembered hearing it when he had the sheep tied up and he was betrayed. He backed up from the walls and readied his axe. "COME OUT AND FIGHT ME, YOU MONSTER!"

Norman screamed. He turned and saw the demon slipping out of a wall, thick ink running down it. The ceiling dripped as if it were raining ink. _Oh, he really pissed him off_. Sammy backed up, cackling, and lured it towards Norman. "Fight it, you brute! Fight it and _win_ this time!"

Norman's light flickered up and down, as if he was struggling to take it in. He backed up, a violent shudder going through him, then rushed at it. The demon screeched and charged like a feral animal, swiping at him and narrowly missing. His speaker sounded like it was about to break with how much shrieking he was doing, clawing at the demon and hitting it repeatedly. He bashed his own head against it, the parts that would hold a film reel in place digging into the monster like a bull's horns. It earned a scream from both of them.

_He almost felt bad. The Projectionist had a name now, an identity. He was a person that felt, wasn't he? And he was putting him in danger. Probably scaring him. He had died once, and now he could die again._

Well, sometimes things required _sacrifice_.

Sammy grabbed the demon by the shoulders and climbed it, raising his axe. He locked one arm around its shoulder to stay on. He slammed the axe into its neck, a sharp laugh leaving him as the blade sank into the demon's neck. He pulled it out and hacked it back in, barely able to stay on. The demon thrashed and roared, picking Norman up and flinging him into the already shambled stairs. The staircase shattered under his weight. Norman stumbled forwards, splinters and shards sticking out of him. He made an upset sound and reached back to pull the pieces out.

He thumped the axe back into the demon, hacking it into its head and shoulder. He was scream-laughing now, finding an alien joy in hurting his false god. "YES, _DIE_!" His axe was dull now, so coated with ink it was essencially useless. He turned it onto its flat side and hit the Ink Demon upside the head.

It shrieked and reached behind itself, grabbing Sammy by the leg. He held on tight, but it was useless- he was thrown off and yet still somehow held his axe. He sat up in the ink and stumbled to his feet. He clenched his weapon and ran at the demon, his reason lost now. He raised it.

_He'll kill it! He'll kill the demon, hell kill it, he'll free himself! He had to! He had to free himself from this hell! He hated the demon, he hated it, it betrayed him! It tried to end him, and failed!_

The demon reached out with a clawed hand to hit him. It hit, clawing through his arm. Sammy didn't notice it- adrenaline and raw excitement only made him more senselessly angry. He could only see the demon, just the demon, nothing else. His 'ears' were ringing- was Norman still shrieking? He didn't care- he was focused on the monster that he'd so foolishly followed for thirty years. He _snarled_ , he _snarled_ like a monster, all cohearant thought gone. He just knew he wanted to tear the thing in front of him to shreds.

He lunged at it- and was stopped mid-air. The Ink Demon was lit up in a bright light- and it flinched back, moving to cover its eyes. Sammy had been grabbed by the back of his suspenders. He started thrashing and kicking, too far off of the ground to get purchase. He growled not unlike how a Searcher did. "Hh...hh… _agh_!" He kicked Norman, finding his voice, but it was rough and _not him_. "Wh..what are you doing?! L-let me go!" He screamed, practically frothing at the mouth. He swiped at the air and was swung into Norman's arms. He clutched him tight- being held so close to the speaker wasn't helping him think. "LET ME GO, YOU HORRID MISTAKE! WE HAVE TO KILL IT! I can kill it!" He roared, starting to claw at the _thing_ holding him hostage. He looked behind Norman, who broke into a sprint away from the demon. The Ink Demon ran after them. He hefted his axe up and threw it behind them as hard as he could.

_Thunk_. It hit the demon square in the forehead. It roared and reached up, think ropes of ink enveloping it as if it was going to suck it into itself. It ripped it out and threw it aside, shaking like a wet dog. Ink sprayed in every direction from its wounds- which were quickly sealing themselves shut. It slid after them almost gracefully on the ink.

Norman ran up the stairs, skidding around the platform and making a break for the way out. His speaker popped louder than it normally did, a horrible ripping sound was heard, and then _silence_. It was almost sweet, save for the demon screaming. Or was that Sammy? Oh, that was Sammy yelling his head off.

He sprinted and ran around a corner, and gradually the immediate adrenaline drained from Sammy's head. His throat- if he had one- went raw and he could scream and yell and rave no longer. He was still pissed off, though. The bastard stopped him! He disobeyed his god, his savior! What a lousy, selfish sheep Norman was!

Sammy felt weird. He looked down and realized his arm was torn to shit from the demon. He felt light-headed all of the sudden- was he squeamish? Or was his energy fading? He could still hear the demon chasing them, but it sounded distant, now. Norman's steps sounded distant. His own rough panting sounded far, far away and faded. The heartbeat was still pounding loudly and painfully. Not the time to pass out! Not now!

Suddenly he was being thrown into something. Something wooden and small. Norman shoved himself in after him and he heard a thud of a squeaky door closing. What was happening? Where were they? He looked around. It looked like a tight, cramped box. It was hollow on the inside, but Norman was still unwieldy and squished them both. There was a small slit in the door. He remembered seeing them around when wandering, and in the room Norman's head had been... A Little Miracle Station? He never really understood what those things were before... Not completely; the things were so weird just by name alone... "This won't help..." he murmured.

The Ink Demon whirled into the hall. Ink poured down the walls and started to flood the hall. It snarled, baring its slightly ink-stained teeth. Norman bowed his head and hunched over, back to the back wall of the station, and Sammy noticed he was shaking like a leaf. He felt bad, but the feeling was fleeting. _Everything_ felt fleeting to him right now. He couldn't really see outside now- he was still being clutched almost painfully tight.

_Breathing. A heartbeat. Shuffling. Something scratching at the door. Huffing. Silence, then a hiss. Footsteps leaving._

Sammy's conscience started to slip. The pain was beginning to become apparent and it made him feel fuzzy. Was he dripping? He felt like he was dripping against Norman. He could barely think... The light hurt. Norman rattled him lightly and the speaker sputtered, but didn't make the usual white noise. He lolled his head against his chest and closed his eyes. "Ow, ow...ow..." he cautiously touched the scratch, and flinched back. " _Ow._ " He woke up more, but only gifted him a few seconds of clear thought. He realized the heartbeat was gone.

The Ink Demon was gone. They were safe.

And then he finally passed out.

-

He woke up to being prodded in the face. He groaned, and pain shot through his arm. He slowly opened his eyes and squinted. Norman's light was getting bearable to look at now. They stared at each other. "....hi." he croaked, his voice hoarse. What logic did that make? He probably didn't even have a throat or vocal chords... He was tired. Mentally and physically. He closed his eyes, trying to gather himself, and tried sitting up. He had been laying on his back and Norman was practically laying on him. He backed up to let him sit up. The memories were coming back. They were blurred and warped. He...summoned the Ink Demon. It and Norman smacked each other around. He got his axe and got in quite a few hits... Got thrown off... Was grabbed...

Anything after that was too fuzzy. He was passing out too much lately. He remembered feeling different...feeling nothing but blind anger... It was awful, having no thoughts, only senseless feeling and urges to destroy, full of hate and bloodlust at anything that moved-

Norman poked him again and shook him. "I'm fine, I'm fine...why the hell do you keep touching me?" he was getting used to it. It would just be a thing now, and he accepted that. He looked at his arm- he'd been hurt, hadn't he? He could still see the deep scars, and the pain was still awful. He moved to touch it, and Norman pushed his hand away. He wasn't making that white noise anymore. His speaker made a nasty sound when they were running- right against his head. No way to forget that. "Did something break?" he asked. Getting no response, he pointed to the speaker. Norman looked down at it and shrugged, then deflated. That was probably one of the more human things he's done, second to....carrying him away from the Ink Demon. He was still a little mad about that.

Norman sat back and stood, treading ink everywhere. Where did he take him? Sammy began to stand, and Norman hauled him up. Sammy didn't bother protesting. He wondered why he had saved him in the first place. He had every right to leave him to die- Norman was being used to fight the Ink Demon. Did he not realize that?

Norman pointed to something on the wall. Sammy looked up. Something was written in ink.

_Feel okay?_

Sammy looked at the writing, then Norman, writing, then Norman again. Okay...that confirmed a lot of things. It took him _way_ too long to realize that Norman could write. And could think. He wasn't mindless. A bit of a mad brute, but not mindless... Very well. Then he actually processed the question being asked. He shrugged. Honestly, he could walk, but he wanted to sleep for once. He's had a long...day? Few hours? And it was starting to hit him. He hadn't sat down since he stumbled across Norman's head...

Norman pushed something into his arm. He looked down to see he'd been gifted a can of bacon soup. Just looking at it made him gag. It was the only thing to eat in the whole studio- he didn't _need_ to eat, but early on he did anyways. He got so. Very. _Sick_ of it very quickly. Sammy dropped the can. What a disgusting thing. It didn't even expire! Was it even meant to be edible? Norman somehow looked insulted, placing a hand over his chest dramatically.

"Oh, shut up. You've probably never had it! You don't know how _disgusting_ it is!" Sammy snapped. His shoulder moved the wrong way, and fire hot pain shot through his chest. He wheezed, stumbled, feeling rather drippy again. Norman held him up embarrassingly easily. He couldn't believe how stupid he was, helping the man who didn't care if he killed him. Sammy looked away. He wouldn't feel bad about that. He refused! Norman...was still a weapon. A powerful tool against the Ink Demon. Something that wiped out a room full of monsters like it was nothing.

Yeah...he'll keep telling himself that.

Norman walked back towards the wall, nearly tripped over the stray soup can, and made an annoyed pop. It looked like the pop hurt him- he flinched and one hand drifted to his wire-covered back. He wrote something else on the wall.

_Visitors_.

Then, to really drive it home, he drew an arrow to the door. They were in an office, Sammy realized. There was only one door in or out. He looked at Norman, unimpressed. He didn't think he was the brightest bulb, did he?

Sammy looked incredulous. What did he mean by visitors? He walked towards the door and opened it. He was hit by a wall of whispers and hisses.

_"He fought it-"_  
_"...went mad-"_  
_"...cleared the abyss..."_  
_"Tamed....Polk..."_  
_"...returned....to us..."_  
"Insane...."  
_"H....help?"_

A hoard of Searchers and Lost Ones. Sort of melting together from how crowded they were at the doorframe. They peered up at him in unison. A few poked their heads inside and cowered back at seeing Norman. Norman looked tensed, twitching a little. Their hands started to reach out towards him, and one snatched his pant leg. Sammy took a sharp step back.

He shut the door hard and turned around. "What the fuck?" he could still hear their mad whispering and how they started to paw and scratch at the door. Norman was at his side in a moment, pulling him away from the door, his speaker straining. Still broken. Right.

He was going to ignore the mob outside of the office for now. They weren't hostile, so they could wait. He sighed heavily. Nothing slowed down.... Things just kept going and going... It was exhausting. Things had been so full of action lately, ever since the sheep appeared. Sammy looked around for a place to sleep, or at least a place to rest. Norman kept looking at the door- paranoid, wasn't he?

Sammy didn't see anything soft to lay on. Very well. He caved and laid down on the hard floorboards. He very carefully shifted his hurt arm over his chest, wondering how long it'd take to reform. He didn't reform quickly compared to other creatures. He sighed and closed his eyes. He felt Norman jostle him soon after, and he tiredly pushed him away. Just after passing out, he was going to sleep. Fun. Probably confusing to him, though.

Norman sat a little too close to him, which was _odd_ , but whatever. He doubted he'd run off... He saved him from the Ink Demon, so he cared for him to some extent... He felt...oddly safe. Feeling safe here was...weird. Everything was weird. He tried to calm down his racing thoughts by focusing on something else. His questions could wait. He hurt the demon...that was satisfying. He'd kill it....someday. He'd find a way...

Something touched him, and he jumped. He opened his eyes to see Norman setting a hand on his forehead. He squinted up at him. "...what are you doing? I'm...trying to sleep."

Norman pat him once before pulling away. He exhaled softly, exasperated, and closed his eyes again. So weird... He started to fall asleep for real, and before long he had slipped into the sweet, calm blackness of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's about time they get to rest.


	6. Chapter 6

_He was in something murky. Dark and infinite. Infinitely large, infinitely small, full of voices. Things clawing and grasping at him, panicked, tearing him apart. There were hundreds of others, screaming, sobbing, stretched so thin over everyone else._

_He tried to claw himself upwards- he felt like he was drowning. He could see- there was light. He wanted to get to it, to escape. He had to get out, to keep himself together before he lost himself again-_

_Finally._

_He felt. It was still, dry air that was familiar yet so unfamiliar. His arm loosely pulled itself into existence, clawing at the ink puddle he'd dragged himself out of. He was lukewarm- the well was stuffy. The air felt cold and relieving._

_He lifted his upper body out, looking up. His eyes hurt- even the dim light stung after so long in that inky well. His body started to solidify, starting to stop dripping so much._

_He was lucky. So very lucky. So many other voices were softer, spread thin and cut up into pieces. He slumped out of the ink fully and collapsed, taking his first breaths in a long time._

A loud noise woke Sammy up.

He groaned. He forgot why nothing tended to truly _sleep_ here. He heard most things had nightmares of the well of voices. Of being lost, barely a concept. Existential crises. Some had been there years before they finally clawed their way out. Sammy couldn't remember how he'd first been thrown in. Had he been there more that once? He could still think and still mostly kept his body in its generally correct shape. Others fell in dozens of times and couldn't remember their names anymore. He rubbed his eyes, already forgetting the dream. What an annoyance...

He sat up and realized what had made that horrid half-scream. Norman, who watched as the Searchers forced the door open. He had one hand clasped over his speaker like it was physically hurting him, swiping his other arm out. He caught a Lost One and threw it into the wall. It phased right through it, and he got ready to swing again. Some of them inched back out of range of immediate death, while others threw themselves at Sammy.

 _"Protect us..."  
_ _"Call...off-"  
_ _"-savior-"  
_ _"Get....control of...it...!"_

Norman looked at Sammy, who was trying to shove a clingy Lost One off. He tensed, as if wanting to beat it but would rather not hit Sammy instead. "Don't you dare-" Sammy hissed at both of them.

He kicked the Lost One away and stood up. His arm ached, but didn't really hurt as much as it did before. It looked much better now, with very little dripping. He waved Norman off. He reluctantly stood back. He's been getting a better control of himself since he knocked Sammy's lights out.

"...hold on. What did you say?" He looked over the little gathering, finally catching up to what they were whispering.

" _...call off...it._ " one offered. It motioned to Norman, who somehow looked annoyed he was being involved. The Searchers were having a hard time looking at him- he seemed determined to set them on fire with his stare alone.

"No, no. Not that."

". _..savior?_ "

"That." Sammy definitely liked that. Finally, _something_ was seeing him as a savior. "...elaborate."

" _Fought....the demon._ " A particularly large, droopy, and depressed-looking Searcher said. " _H-hard not...to...notice you r-running away...a-and...got Polk...under control._ "

"Yes...I suppose I did." Sammy mused. "You do have a reason to call me your savior... Though... Why in god's name did you attack us?!"

" _Scary... And bright... W-we thought it was s...safe...th-that...it was...gone_ " One whispered. " _...you...bore the d-demon's face, too... Sorry about that..._ "

He shook his head. "No matter!" A lie. It still bugged him that he looked like them. Horrid things, they were, despite their praise. Disgusting. They could go feral at any minor scare. They could loose all composure at the slightest threat. "...why are you all here?"

" _Protect us...please?_ "

" _Yeah...and you...control the Projectionist..._ "

Sammy couldn't help but smile. He did make Norman do his bidding, didn't he? What a tool. "...very well. I can protect you. My little sheep flock..."

"Am I fluffy?" The large Searcher asked. "...l-like a...sheep?"

" _No, you're fat._ " Another whispered back. The other literally deflated a few inches into the floor. " _...hehe...Jack and fat. It rhymes...for...a reason_."

"Jack? Jack Fain?" Sammy asked, surprising even himself. Where did that name come from? It was achingly familiar... Then it clicked in his head. Yes, he recognized him... He was missing his signature hat, but....it was him. "The lyricist?"

" _I...yes!_ " Jack perked up. He smiled. " _You... You sounded familiar..._ "

"Sammy..." His mind stalled.

" _Sammy Lawrence?_ "

"Yes!" That was it. When had he forgotten his last name? "The...director of the music department. That's it."

He heard some scuffling and saw a Lost One was being forced to transcribe what they were saying. It was trembling as it wrote in sloppy, quick strokes. Norman watched it carefully, and turned to Sammy when the Lost One wrote his name down.

"Ah. I suppose I had no way to tell you my name."

Norman paused before writing something on the wall.

_Crazy._

" _You were....unhinged._ " Jack pointed out. " _...I remember._ "

" _Didn't...didn't he...drink ink?!_ " another Searcher asked. " _Oh...god. He did...he did..! I-I...I remember seeing him! Th-that's...so gross! I...swear..._ " They began murmuring amongst themselves in a flurry, some looking clueless while others looked alarmed.

" _...tried to...convert me..._ " one seemed like it was having an awful headache, clutching its head and shaking. " _...t...tied me up!_ "

" _Wasn't he...a....cult leader?_ " the poor transcribing Lost One asked, then got back to writing. It wrote _'we all agree that sammy was nuts'_ on the wall. Norman looked at it and nodded.

"You traitors! Shut up!" Sammy snapped, getting flustered and feeling his face get hot. He was _not_ a cult leader! He...actually. He probably was. He did tie up lots of Searchers, Lost Ones, and the like and demanded they worship his god, and threatened to sacrifice them if not. That was no excuse to mock him! "Cease slandering me this instant!"

He...did drink ink. But that was _definitely completely_ unrelated!

Jack nudged a laughing Lost One. " _We probably should stop...he fought the ink demon, after all... W-we probably...shouldn't mess with h-him._ " He looked up at Norman, who had started looking around at them all back and forth in a twitchy, unnerved manner. He got like that whenever there was a lot of movement, Sammy noticed " _...a-and he has...that._ " Jack motioned vaguely to Norman, who jerked his head to stare at him. Jack flinched.

"You are right! As your savior, you should respect me!" Sammy grinned, spreading his arms. His scratched one grew sore in response at the sudden movement, so he dropped them.

They looked at each other. Jack shrugged. A few others suddenly looked unsure about tracking him down, while the rest just went with it and nodded in agreement. One or two started to sink back into the floor, bailing as if they could already tell this was not going in their favor. Good- they wouldn't be loyal to him. Traitors at worst. Either way, the whispers stopped.

"...good." Sammy smiled. He looked back at the transcribing Lost One. They made tense eye contact. It scratched out _'was'_ in its message and wrote _'is'_ below it, then slammed itself back into the floor and was gone. Norman looked back at him and glanced at the writing, nodded again, and went back to staring the visitors down. "As your savior- your _shepherd_ , I expect you to obey m-"

Norman let out a broken shriek- a Searcher had reached under the range of his light and took him by the arm. It cackled at him freaking out, jerking back to avoid being punched in half. His speaker crackled, then there was silence. He clasped his hands over his head, shaking badly. "Oh, it broke for real." Sammy said, feeling...a twinge of empathy. Why did he feel bad? Norman could barely be considered a person! He shot a glare at the culprit for breaking Norman, who quickly shrank down.

He went towards him, caving into his feelings. He sighed. "Calm down...let me see..." He murmured. The speaker looked fine on the outside- clogged with ink, maybe, but other than that, there was no outside damage. The main seemed to be running through wires and affecting his back, somehow. "Any of you engineers?" he glanced back at the group. "Can any of you fix this?"

One by one, each of the Lost Ones and Searchers shook their heads, looking at one another. Jack shook his head, too. Sammy sighed. "Hmph...anyone willing to try?"

Slowly, one Searcher raised its hand. " _I-I'll...try._ " It offered, and slushed over when beckoned.

"Find tools, the lot of you." Sammy said, waving them off. The Searchers vanished in ink, while the Lost Ones favored dragging themselves out of ink and walking. Jack stayed behind for a moment, then sank down and vanished.

The volunteer Searcher reached out to the speaker. Norman stared it down, tensed. Sammy backed up in case things went wrong. " _Maybe....we can unscrew it...?_ " it suggested softly. He shrugged- how was he supposed to know how it worked?

The moment it touched the speaker, Norman hit it across the room. It hit the wall with a disgusting splatter and slid down to the floor. It whimpered and slid into its own ink. There went their only volunteer.

Sammy looked at Norman, who had pointedly looked away, and frowned. "Really? I'm trying to help you." he muttered. Norman looked down at himself, reaching up to poke at his speaker. He flinched.

"Sit down, sit down." he dragged a chair over. Norman watched him, got the hint, and sat down. He shook his head quickly, covering his speaker when Sammy approached him. "Calm down." He really didn't know how speakers worked- nor did anyone else, apparently. So he'll have to do the dirty work of fixing it.

For some reason, that reassured him. Did he really trust someone else with Norman? Hm...not really, the more he thought about it. He had more brain cells than the rest of them combined. This was probably for the best.

Sammy looked at the wall, which was caked in writing now. He sighed- the office was going to get absolutely trashed and covered in ink, wasn't it? He wrote on a relatively bare wall.

_'Do you know how to fix your speaker?'_

He shook his head. It was worth a shot.. Well...Norman just knew how projectors worked, so that made sense. Inconvenient. Sammy began pacing. He was definitely going to screw this up. But it was probably better than what the others could manage.

" _Back...!_ " The door was shoved open. Sammy turned around. Jack led the noticeably smaller party. " _...ah...some...left._ "

"Disloyal sheep-!" Sammy hissed. "...fine. Did you find what I asked for?" He asked, keeping his temper in check.

" _Yes. Ah...where's the one who...offered to fix the Projectionist?_ "

"Oh." Sammy motioned vaguely to the puddle it had disappeared into. The others cringed away. "Hopefully...Norman will not deck me." He was given a screwdriver and half-full toolbox. It had a little Boris plush in it. "Very helpful, my dear flock."

He turned to Norman, who somehow looked mortified at realizing he was still going to be torn into. He stood up, knocked over the chair, backed up, and nearly fell over the furniture. His light flicked down, and he bumped into the wall. Mindful not to make any sudden moves, Sammy moved closer.

Norman stared him down. He pointed at him, drew an X over his speaker, then drew a line across his own neck.

"Point taken." He stood in front of him, looking up into the lens. He assumed that meant there would be hell to pay if he messed up or hurt him more. He...would rather not hurt Norman again, which surprised him. He supposed he was warming up to him.... _ugh_. He turned to the chair and straightened it, motioning for him to sit. Norman looked between him and the chair, then slumped over in defear and sat down. "Thank you." He stood in front of him, now somewhat at the same height. He heard the Searchers and few Lost Ones remaining begin murmuring in worry. So far, he wasn't being knocked out. That was already an improvement compared to the last thing who tried touching him.

He knelt and gripped the screwdriver tight, eyeing the speaker. Gross. It was like performing surgery.... That didn't help his nerves. _Don't panic._ He had to keep his hands steady. He didn't have a flashlight. "I know you can't hear me, but it's best you start praying." He muttered.

" _Good luck, ah...shepherd?_ " one of the Searchers piped up, wary. " _A-and...Norman...._ "

" _...yeah...good luck._ " another had looked away, whispering something about being squeamish.

"I'll need that... Can I get an amen?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Searchers and Lost Ones 100% gossip to anyone that will listen. The slightest new thing that doesn't try to kill them makes them so happy and spreads like wildfire.  
> "hey I saw that human knock the hammer into his own face in the park when doing the strength tester"  
> "oh we've all done that haha"


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for explicit nastiness. Like, detailed descriptions of sticking hands in a half-living biomechanical projector man nasty.

"Amen." he quietly told himself.

The moment Sammy started unscrewing the speaker, Norman stiffened, shook violently, and snatched his other hand painfully tight. He hissed in pain, but couldn't pull his hand free even if he wanted to. If it kept Norman from striking him, he could keep it.

He resumed unscrewing it awkwardly with one hand. It was crusted with ink- all of it was. He tugged his hand back, shook it, and used both hands to force the screw out. The first one clattered to the floor. Norman was trembling, pawing at where his hand had been. Sammy would assume it hurt- he wished he could make it go away.

The thought was so empathetic and kind that is made him cringe inside. Nope, _no_ \- Norman was not a person, he was a weapon. That's it. If he lied to himself enough, he'd start thinking of him that way more.

He sighed and started getting the next screw. Then a third. He pulled the speaker off with a disgusting sticky sound- dried ink had helped hold it in place. A puff of dust and smoke blew into his face, and he gagged and looked away. A light shudder went through Norman. His head lolled back, and his light flickered off.

"....Norman?" He got worried for a moment- but felt his...'breathing', so he was still alive. Just fainted. The pain was that bad, huh...? Sammy sighed, patting his leg as if that helped, and set the speaker aside.

"One of you- clean that somehow."

" _Okay..._ " and the speaker was taken away.

Sammy shook his head, a little disgusted by the state Norman was in. It made _sense_ \- but _still_ , it was unsanitary. He spotted worn gloves and put them on. He picked a slightly dusty rag out of the toolbox and shook it, trying not to stain it with any ink, and tried wiping whatever was in Norman's chest off. It was a box- he didn't really know how speakers worked. He blew it off- it was caked in dust. It was mildly uncomfortable looking into his...weapon's...guts. He reached in and shifted the box. It had foam on it? It had more circular parts around it, lining the edges, keeping _most_ of the ink out... The box had wires on the back, top, and bottom. One at the back was frayed, and when pressed together, he realized it must've been rather strained even when not broken. "Ugh..." he turned away as to not get a mouthful of dust. "...anybody have any wires?"

One Searcher pointed to a light high up on the wall. " _...l-lift me..._ " Another appeared behind it and hauled it up. It fumbled to unscrew the covering and bulb from the wall, then managed to pull it free. It stuck its hand in to grasp the other end of the wires. " _...I wonder if- agh!_ " it fell back and the other caught it, sparks shooting from the hole in the wall. Its arm was _on fire._ " _I-INK IS FLAMMABLE!_ "

" _WELL PUT YOURSELF OUT!_ " Sammy yelled. "Stay back!"

The one on fire panicked, and its friend smothered its flaming arm with itself. For a moment Sammy thought they'd combust or something. But the pressure must've smothered it- the fire went out. The one that had been on fire flopped into a puddle with a whimper, the others backing away in case it went alight again. " _.....o-ow..._ "

"I will _not_ trust you with things like that again!" Sammy snapped. He stood up abruptly, barely bothering to comfort the Searchers, and looked up at the exposed wiring. Only one strand had snapped and was sparking outwards. He was tall enough to reach it without assistance. He reached in with little struggle, feeling the end of the wiring. It was connected to some sort of...thing that bundled wiring again. He stood up a little taller and pulled it free. There...a fistful of wires, connected to a plug at the end.

" _F-found tape...._ " Jack meekly piped up. He offered it. " _I-it....it could...hold this together....th-the wiring..._ " he looked down. Sammy took the half-gone roll of duct tape. He turned to comfort the burned Searcher.

Sammy watched them for a moment before returning to Norman. He sighed, forcing himself not to look at them. It...made him...feel something. Something he didn't want to deal with right now. No time for guilt, or worry... He had to fix the speaker so Norman would stop being in pain. He refused to feel care for his sheep or for his tool. Hmph...

He got to work with trying to replace wires. It...wasn't easy. He slumped Norman over and eyed his back, in case it was connected to one of those inch-thick wires. He stuck his gloved hand deeper and felt more wires- pulled out of place and tangled. He shuddered at how squishy it was in there. He prayed he didn't touch his ink heart, if he had one. "Disgusting..."

He found the end of the wires- bundled up together in a tangled clump. He sighed and pulled at the clump- might as well replace the whole thing... He couldn't even see what he was doing... He set the tape aside, focusing on pulling out the mess of wires. With a crack that made him wildly uncomfortable, he slipped it off. There was a plug at the end that was caked in ink around the edges. Was he fucking up? Honestly, probably...

He wrapped the new wires thickly in duct tape so they wouldn't come loose or snap. He covered the end with his hand and started pushing it in. Hopefully he avoided getting it messed up in ink. He felt the socket, wiped the immediate ink off, and forced the plug in. Gross, so, so gross...

The new wires were longer- good. He made sure they were secure inside, feeling ink tighten around it, and shuddered to pull his hand free. He brought the other end to the box, yanking out the remains of the old wires and not really sure what to do with the end. He just pressed the end in, and was _extremely_ unnerved when ropes of ink wrapped around it and drew it in further. The wires became visible engorged with ink flowing through them. "...what the hell..." Damn ink biology...makes no sense...

He started to remove his hand, then felt Norman shift. His light flickered for a moment, then turned off again. "....oh. Speaker- give me the speaker!" He stuck his hand out behind him, and it was placed in it. It was indeed wiped mostly clean of ink, both inside and outside. He put it back in place, fumbling for new screws and the screwdriver.

Thankfully, there were fresh screws in the toolbox. Not stained with ink, and easy to put in. He started putting them in quickly. He would prefer it if Norman didn't wake up yet...! "Stay asleep, damnit...!" he muttered, trying to keep his hands steady.

He made sure the screws were tightened firmly and stumbled back as the light turned on again- just in case he freaked out and lashed out. Norman's light turned on and stayed on, and he shuddered. He lifted his hands and pat at his chest blindly. He looked at Sammy, his light brightening as he returned to his senses. "Norman...are you okay?" He asked slowly. The few sheep left watched, a few shrinking back.

He responded by rumbling. It was a weird sound. Norman traced his speaker for a moment, looking down at it. There was a gurgling noise, then...it _coughed_. Almost like a _person_. Norman heaved somehow, hitting himself in his chest once. He was breathing hard. Could he even breathe? Could he talk?

Norman tilted his head. He nodded quickly, then gave a thumbs-up. He was convinced...he was smiling. Somehow. He couldn't talk, still, but...that was okay. Sammy breathed a sigh of relief. He smiled for once- soft and barely noticeable. That was...nice. Why was he so happy? He tried telling himself that it was just because he didn't want his tool to break. The lie was becoming...less convincing. "...I'm... It's good you're-"

He hugged him.

Sammy couldn't move. Both from shock and how tight Norman's grip was. When he winced due to his arm, Norman shifted so he wasn't touching it anymore. His body was warm compared to the ink, thrumming with...something. Ink? Electricity? Sammy wheezed, tensing up, and contemplated hugging back for a split second. Then he shoved the thought down. "Th...thank y-you..."

" _Aw...!_ " Jack murmured. Sammy forgot they were there...and _staring_. Sammy blushed hard. " _You...did...tame it... With...kindness?_ "

"Y-you want me to help you? To free you?" Sammy hissed, still being squeezed. Norman seemed uninterested in being watched. Jack nodded slightly. "I'll _free your head off your shoulders_ if you breathe a word about this to _anyone_." He had a reputation to keep up now! He was the savior, the shepherd! He wasn't soft or cuddly!

Jack winced and nodded. " _...p-point taken..._ " The Searchers and Lost One beside him nodded furiously in agreement, wanting to keep their heads. The one that had been burned- and was dripping ink- took the arm of its helper- the last Lost One- and sank low down. They vanished into the puddles. Two more weak souls gone...disloyal, sick sheep.

He struggled a little in Norman's hold. He let go of him, and Sammy took a step back. He brushed himself off and turned to face the few Searchers left... That left Jack Fain...and two more Searchers. The little party was getting smaller. Sammy frowned. "...well...we have a loyal few left. Norman is...better." he smiled once again. Norman buzzed happily- it was familiar. He liked that. "Well, you are a fine flock." he muttered. A slight lie. "Together, we might kill the Ink Demon."

" _....kill...the ink demon?_ " One murmured.

The other unnamed Searcher frowned. " _...you...said nothing...about that..._ " it looked away, hugging itself. " _...I...would...rather not...please._ "

" _R-really? I thought...it was rather obvious... D-did none of you...hear how h-he threw the axe at it?_ " Jack asked, looking confused. He lowered his head, fiddling with his hands. " _...I miss my hat..._ "

"Oh, you cowards! Of course I'm going to kill the Ink Demon!" Sammy groaned, facepalming. What idiots...

The unnamed Searchers looked at one another, then back at them. Then they dove into the ink.

"OH, COME ON!" Sammy stomped his foot down. "...and so there was one. Damnit! At least you're here, Fain!"

Norman, however, seemed happy there were less moving things. He hummed, standing. He rubbed his head, shaking it a little, and scanned the room. He hummed at settled on Jack, crouching to get a better look. Jack flinched.

"You're staying, I hope." Sammy muttered. "What was that about your hat? We can get that back."

" _R-really...?_ "

"Sure. Where is it?"

Jack cringed. " _The...human-_ "

"Henry?"

" _-he...um...killed me._ " Jack looked down sadly, rubbing his arms. " _...my hat fell off when I fell into the well...I-I'm lucky I could get out of the well so fast..._ "

That _bastard_. Sammy frowned. Norman watched, tilting his head. Sammy started writing on one of the few blank spaces left on the wall.

_We're going to find Henry and kill him._

He paused, then added:

_Then we'll find the demon._

Norman hummed and nodded. He had a grudge against Henry for whatever reason. Lucky them. Jack tilted his head. " _Really... I...do want to make that fair._ " he admitted. Sammy smiled. Three of them, and all of them wanted Henry _dead_.

"Perfect...!" Sammy clasped his hands together. "...where in this inky hell is Henry?"

Jack shrugged. Norman _definitely_ didn't know. " _Ah...down, maybe? Th-this studio only r-really goes down._ "

"Yes...I suppose it does." Sammy nodded. "Good. Let's go!"

" _N-now?!_ "

"We must catch up to him! The sheep is _fast_ for being so old!" Sammy grabbed Norman by the arm. Norman slipped his hand into Sammy's. ...whatever made him feel better about...things. Whatever. "...I have no idea where we are!" He's never gone this deep before-! It was...a little...unnerving, he had to admit.

Jack sighed. " _Follow me..._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boy lost 99% of his cult members in two chapters


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was very little description on their general location/movement within the studio, which may cause confusion, and only now am I trying to fix this. this is what I get for not planning this beyond a chapter or two I am sorry

"Are we lost?"

" _N-no..._ "

"We're lost." at least they had a living flashlight to keep from tripping over things. Sammy sighed. Norman kept holding his hand...which was getting used to. Being soft wasn't really that bad with nobody to see. Jack honestly didn't care. Sammy was enjoying the hand holding, even if it confused him over...a few things.

Jack sighed, melting a little. " _Sorry..._ "

Sammy shook his head. "No... We can only go down...it's hard to get lost if we go in one direction."

" _I suppose it is._ "

Norman lifted his head slightly, peering down the hall. He sounded...unhappy, somehow. Sammy squinted at the hall. "Lord, we've been going in circles."

" _...what?_ "

"I _found_ Norman here. His...head, at least. Ugh...this place looks the same from all angles. I slapped him together...we went to where he 'lived'...fought the demon..." he rubbed his temple. "Norman took me _lord_ knows where...and now we're back here."

" _Oh..._ " Jack looked around. He eyed the room. It was familiar. They rounded the hall- there was where he found his body. Norman shuddered, and Sammy subconsciously held his hand tighter. " _That door's open..._ "

"Well. Onwards we go." Sammy said, and started walking. Norman seemed glad they were walking past his death site. Jack went ahead. Sammy tugged on Norman's arm. He looked at him and tried to look concerned enough for him to read his mind. Was he okay? Another part of him questioned why he even cared about that, or why he was letting Norman even touch him.

Norman bowed his head. He shook his head a little. He was looking pointedly away from the floor. ...no. He wasn't okay, then. Sammy looked away. Could...he help? He seemed to exhale softly. He set a hand on Sammy's good shoulder.

"... _wow_..." he heard Jack murmur. Sammy pulled Norman into the room. They looked up and around.

A....storage space? Norman looked back and forth rapidly, stepping in a circle. His white noise got louder, and...Sammy swore he heard something under it. It sounded like whispering. Murmuring? Could Norman actually speak? He made that coughing noise... He certainly hadn't been mute when he was a human... Maybe he'd forgotten, after nobody to talk to. Did things work like that?

Anyways. There was a half-dismantled carousel and other such...attractions. Theme park. Underground. In an animation studio. Jack looked around in a circle and slid deeper into the room. " _Oh....this is neat...!_ "

"Has this...always been here? I didn't know...this was here. I feel like I would've remembered this!" Sammy muttered. It was _massive_ \- a gaping cavern, filled with equipment and wires. "Why is this here?!"

" _Oh! Oh...I recognize this place!_ " Jack smiled. " _Ah, yes! There's a-a carnival ride around here...! Bertrum… Yes, Bertrum! He's was nearby. I think...we passed him, though._ "

"....who? What has Joey been doing behind my back?" Sammy asked, baffled. He followed Jack, pulling Norman along. "Having a ride down here seems inconvenient..."

" _Oh...it is! Bertrum_ is _the ride... I think he possessed it? I'm not sure... But he's v-very nice! He gives us rides...! It's fun. H-he enjoys people appreciating his work._ " Jack hummed. " _This looks like the area he was in...but there were lots of games. They were fun._ "

"Ah, I see."

" _H-hey! Hey...! ...Jack!_ "

Another Searcher popped out of the ground. Norman jumped back, shrieking, and Sammy set an arm over his chest. The Searcher looked between them, backing up just out of arm's reach. Norman was absolutely seething. The Searcher looked more sad and droopy than scared. " _..._ "

" _Oh, hello!_ " Jack said, lowering himself to be more at the Searcher's height. " _I'm sorry I've been gone for so long...I've been with these guys..._ _...what's wrong?_ "

" _...we were...were looking for you. In case...you didn't hear._ " It drew in a shuddering breath. " _...the human got to Bertrum… He's...gone. He...the human tore him apart!_ " it became visibly distressed. " _He's dead!_ "

" _Oh...oh no..._ " Jack sank a little into his puddle. He looked away. " _...he was nice..._ " the other Searcher hugged him.

"Henry? Henry did this?!" He wasn't surprised. Why wasn't Sammy surprised anymore?

Henry brought nothing but suffering to the studio! "Well! Another reason to kill him!" Sammy declared, slipping his hand from Norman's and whirling around in a circle. Norman made a sound somewhat akin to a groan. "There must be things watching us, yes? Searchers must be nearby? You are everywhere!"

" _P-probably._ " the new Searcher whispered.

"Well, then. Hear me, sheep! I am your savior!" Sammy yelled at nothing. Was he hearing whispering? Glistening, black ink shifted and formed a handful of Searchers scattered throughout the room. "I will kill the horrid man who hurt you!"

" _Sammy, that's-_ "

"Jack, shut up, can't you tell I'm preaching? HEAR ME, SHEEP! I KNOW YOU ARE HERE! I will slay the wolf that has been needlessly slaughtering you, and the Ink Demon will be next!" his voice carried in a way only a band director's could.

Norman was looking at him, head slightly tilted, before focusing on something behind him. The Searcher had gotten closer. " _W-wait,_ " it yelped, raising its arms in surrender, " _are you telling the truth?_ "

"Oh, dear lamb, I tell nothing _but_ the truth!" Sammy pushed Norman back. He looked at Sammy, humming, before continuing to stare the Searcher down.

"What is it with you and sheep...?" Jack muttered. Sammy ignored him.

"Mark my words, I will kill him!"

" _...that'd be nice._ " One Searcher piped up. It was hiding behind a shelf, half-melted. " _But you're...I've heard you're crazy!_ "

Sammy glared at that Searcher, and Norman turned to glare with him, coiled and close to lunging. He was beginning to realize that he should probably explain what's happening before Norman got completely lost. Or establish some easier communication.

"I am _not_ crazy! You are all just too weak to act! I can and will protect you!" Sammy vowed. Disgusting little things- sometimes savage, but...they were his people. And Henry had wronged them. He shook his head and waved them off without waiting for a reply. "Spread the word that your savior will come! You will be freed soon! Go on! Shoo!" He turned to Jack. "Come. Let's find something to write on. I feel Norman's confusion will only harm us."

" _...but you can v-very easily hold it back..._ "

"Did I stutter?"

Jack squeaked and shook his head. They resumed walking, then came across a wooden doorway. " _Oh, there's a little train ride here. It's nice._ "

Sammy ignored that and instead went to the wall. He ignored the ominous writing of _'turn back_ ' and started writing his own message. Norman seemed to sigh. _Finally_ , he must've been thinking, _I'll know what's going on_.

_Can you talk?_

Norman shrugged and wheezed. His speaker was clear now, but static still obscured most noises he made. He hummed a soft tune- broken, but soft, as if to test out his range. Uncomfortable, he rubbed the side of his boxy head. Could Norman hear himself speak? Jack covered his head and shook it. " _Why would you want it to talk?!_ "

"Makes things easier." Sammy said, barely paying him any mind. He nodded at Norman. _Keep trying._

A hiss that tapered out into a thin breath, " _Ssss, Sssaa-_ " another cough, and he hit himself in the chest. How else could he try to fix that? " _-Saa-_ " It sounded like a radio tuning to a new frequency, shifting up and down in pitch, missing the perfect tone over and over.

"Oh, that actually worked?!" Honestly, he thought Norman would forever remain mute. Even basic, somewhat human sounds was a good step.

His voice cracked before returning to a lower pitch. It was familiar- a little staticky and fuzzy, but...it was Norman Polk.

"Sss..." Norman shuddered, made a mildly soft buzz, and tried again. "...th- hh…haa _aaa_...n'k." He huffed. ".....yeee- Th...ha- haaahh..nk… Y....auuh." he gave up and motioned to Sammy.

" _I think he means 'thank you'_." Jack supplied helpfully.

"That's more progress than I expected!" Sammy smiled, his face growing warm. "...what's he thanking me for?"

" _You saved his life- put him back together._ "

"Ah." That made sense. Sammy knew they should probably get going, but... He wanted to speak to Norman. He went to the wall, and hesitated. What was an appropriate response to that? He stalled.

Norman watched him for a moment, then spread out his arms. He made a _'hhhh'_ sound, but was unable to do much more.

" _He wants a hu-_ "

"I _know_ that." Sammy hissed. Jack didn't flinch as badly as he usually did, instead looking at him expectantly. Sammy severely considered ignoring the hug and hiding in his pride. He tried convincing himself he shouldn't get attached to Norman more than he already was.

But he wanted a hug from him, so he caved. He swallowed his pride and hugged him. Norman made a happy sound- it sounded too much like a chuckle for his liking- and wrapped his arms around him. Sammy sighed quietly, letting Norman hug him as tight as he wanted. The second hug in a long, long time, and Sammy was already getting used to it. But it felt...nice. Warm. He felt loved.

Jack had the sense to look away before he was snapped at. Sammy let the hug go on a little while longer, then wormed out of his grasp. Norman regained his composure, setting his hands on his sides. Jack turned back around and met their gazes. Norman looked away. Was he... Could he even be embarrassed? He clasped his hands behind him, absolutely refusing to look back at him and starting to hum loudly and brokenly. He was _shy_ , oh lord! Sammy stifled a laugh at that.

"...we should get going." Sammy tried to get his goals in order. He was still smiling, dimly aware he was blushing. Choosing to ignore it, he started walking. Then he had to turn around and had to get Norman's attention, since he was looking away from where they were going.

Jack was covering his mouth with his hand, shaking with muffled laughter. A snort escaped him, and he only grinned when being glared at. Norman got one good look at him and favored staring at the ground instead. " _Aww, but you're cute...!_ "

"Personally, I wouldn't describe myself as cute." Sammy muttered. He looked like every other creature in here! He wasn't exactly special on the outside. He looked around the empty train ride they were in. He remembered he should've been filling Norman in on what happened, so he started writing again.

Norman watched him silently. He made a slightly unhappy sound at Sammy still wanting the Ink Demon dead- Sammy, personally, couldn't fathom why. Everyone wanted it dead! They stood a chance! If Sammy was lucky, maybe they'd have an army of souls behind them! He could dream...

Sammy stood back, wringing his hand- using his body as a pen felt rather weird after a while. He thought he got everything down, effectively caking the wall in his writing. He established that Jack was here to stay, and that they'd be getting revenge. Henry would be killed, and currently they were on the way to find him. He added that the Searchers and Lost Ones saw him as a savior, which both Norman and Jack snorted at.

" _They think you're crazy, but you're the only one willing to do it. Plus, you actually have a chance._ " Jack pointed out. Then, to himself, " _Since when could I talk so clearly?_ "

"As your savior, it is my duty to protect my followers, even if it looks questionable at first." Sammy huffed. He looked down the track- the cart itself was gone and the wooden gates were all open. Henry must've used it. He wondered why it hadn't reset...maybe they were close! "There's only one way to go."

" _Mhm._ " Jack moved after them. He was slow, but getting used to actively moving. " _...maybe I'll find a new hat._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> villainizing henry is fun


	9. Chapter 9

They walked down the tunnel in silence, Norman lighting up the tracks. He would poke at the fake ghosts that had long since popped out. Sammy, personally, wasn't impressed. After everything he's seen, he would've thought a scary ride would actually be, well...scary.

The last gate was stuck slightly inwards, facing towards them. Sammy pushed up against it and it didn't budge. He could see light underneath it, but it looked like something was pushing up against it and blotted some of the light out.

" _I can go under and open it from there._ " Jack offered quietly.

"Thank you for the offer, but..." Sammy motioned to Norman, who tilted his head. Norman looked over at the gates and pushed them. It had very little give and groaned under his weight.

He pulled back his fist, looked at Sammy for confirmation, and punched the gate to splinters. They walked in.

"What the hell happened here?"

The room was utterly _trashed_. A frankly unnecessary number of sand bags had been thrown haphazardly around the room- they must've been what was holding the gate shut. There was a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There was what looked like a slot machine near the exit, splattered with ink. A cart was thrown against a wall, crumpled up. Wood was everywhere and splinters were sticking into the walls. A couch had been overturned and ripped to shreds. One of the paintings on the wall was askew. In the center of the room was...

"Oh, lord!" That was _Alice_! Laying on her side, chest splattered with ink. It pooled from her body. She was half-melted into the ground. Her face was frozen in a look of shock.

Jack covered his eyes a little. " _Oh, oh..._ "

Norman looked at her for a long moment. He made a sound akin to a cackle, but sharper. "D...de...s-served....th...hh..hat..."

"Wow, I didn't know you hated her." Sammy said, mildly amused. He walked over to the body. It was...weird. Why wasn't she being absorbed into the well? Jack slowly joined them, shivering. "Though, I assume everyone did."

" _Sh-she wanted his stuff... A-and I don't th...think she can e-even be absorbed..._ " his speech slipped a little. " _...sh-she's so...jumbled up inside..._ "

Interesting. Cruel, but interesting. Sammy nudged Alice with his foot. She was definitely dead...hm. Weird. "Well...what killed her?"

" _It looks like she was stabbed._ "

"No- you know what I mean!" Sammy crossed his arms. "Don't sass me! Who did it? …it was probably Henry, wasn't it? He kills anything that _exists_ near him."

Jack nodded. Norman looked at the exit of the room. It was opened and there was no light inside. He stepped towards it.

"Henry did _one_ good thing, then." Sammy said dryly to himself. He turned and followed Norman. Jack was just happy to get away from the body. Norman lit up the tunnel- it looked unfinished. The tracks ended a few feet in and the tunnel was no longer decorated with props. Sammy looked around the room again, saw nothing much of use, and followed. Norman took him by the arm and Jack tagged along last.

Norman began attempting to talk very quietly, or was just trying to practice, Sammy couldn't really tell. "Sss...Saahh- Mmnn... Sa..mmmee… _Sammy_... J..gg..ack… _Jack_..." Either way, it was something to fill the silence. "N...Nnn… _Norman_... I...ay... _I_ ahm...am..."

* * *

"Oh, yikes."

The tunnel had had some splits in it, but they were all boarded up, so they kept going straight. It eventually emptied into a cavern- and another tunnel. But it was covered ink in- a river of it. Between them was a dock of sorts with an old makeshift barge. Sammy was unsettled by the sheer amount of ink, and Norman sounded alarmed.

Jack, however, brightened. " _Oh, we're near the harbor!_ "

"The what? First a carnival, now a _harbor_?" Sammy really should've been surprised. But he wasn't.

" _Us Searchers and Lost Ones built it. There's a bunch of houses and stuff and...we live there. It's really nice!_ " He clapped his hands together, smiling. He shifted towards the boat and nearly slid through the floorboards, and had to put more effort into his form. Sammy followed.

"Interesting... Could Henry be there?" Sammy asked, then realized how bad that would be. "He'll kill them all."

Jack sounded distressed. " _No, no...! We have to help!_ " He hauled himself into the barge. Thankfully it had a solid floor, so he wouldn't fall through. Sammy followed, beckoning Norman to get in, too. Hopefully it could hold their combined weight.

Norman fell through the wooden docks at the last step, nearly falling into the river. He shrieked and fell into the boat, Sammy pulling him all the way in. "Careful!" the boat rocked alarmingly, and Jack yelped.

Norman wheezed. He just laid on his back, wheezing. Sammy flopped beside him, slightly shaken. He squeezed his arm lightly. How deep was the river? He didn't want to find out. It was impossible to swim through ink...if any of them fell in...

There was a click. Jack had pushed a button and the boat started chugging along slowly and steadily. He glanced back at them, concerned. " _Sorry- I just thought it'd be best to get there quickly. Are you okay?_ "

He nodded tiredly, keeping Norman down. He'll rock the boat with the slightest movement! Norman stayed down and just held him by the arm for comfort.

The boat rumbled along passively. It was sluggish, and even Jack seemed annoyed by that. " _It's so slow..._ " he mumbled.

They came across an intersection. They came from a tunnel with scrap and floating boxes. It split into two tunnels. Jack frowned. " _Hm... Well, that one is going back to where we came from... Should we go to the other one?_ "

"Yea-"

Norman sat up suddenly. He made a sound that must've been an attempt at speech, stumbling. Then the whole area rumbled. The ink river trembled. He stood shakily, wobbling the boat, and looked around. Sammy stood up. "What the..."

A massive hand shot out of the river.

"MOVE THE BOAT FASTER!" Sammy yelled. Jack screamed and pushed the lever harder, and the barge only went a little faster. Norman shrieked and reached to the side of it. He tore off one of the wooden planks holding up the top and threw it at the hand.

The boat stalled. Jack swore- which was a first- and whipped around. " _Why did it stop?!_ "

"It clogged!" Sammy leaned over to look at the paddle wheel. Thick ink was caught in it. He swiped the globs off with his bare hands, cringing at how disgusting it felt, and pulled back when Jack started moving it. "Agh!"

" _Sorry!_ " Jack called. The hand hit a little too close for comfort, sinking back under the river. Norman was making the barge tremble. He snatched the top plank off and threw it into the ink where the hand disappeared.

They quickly developed a rhythm. Sammy snagged one of the planks from Norman to clean the paddle off. Jack steered the barge. Norman threw things at the hand to slow it down and distract it. It lifted somewhat consistently, pawing at the ink and stealing whatever Norman threw at it.

They saw something come into view. A harbor. Jack was right. Filled with stacked, leaning buildings, spray-painted with encouraging messages such as _'WE'RE ALL SINNERS DOWN HERE'_ and _'WHAT AM I?'_.

There were Lost One everywhere- hell, one was _fishing_ \- and they turned to stare as they went for the docks. Jack waved- and then yelled when the hand appeared again.

Norman scrambled out the moment they were close enough, falling onto the docks in a heap of relief and wires. Sammy pulled Jack out of the boat with him, now safe on the docks. Jack melted into something of a puddle, sighing. It was welcome after that whole ordeal.

_"Who are you-"_   
_"...the shepherd-"_   
_"-why-"_   
_"...lured the hand-"  
"-looks like us-"  
_

They were swarmed in a little circle by the Lost Ones, then watched in horror as the hand reappeared and dragged the barge under. There were a few seconds of silence, then nothing. The hand was gone. It didn't attack the harbor for some reason. Sammy was never going in there ever again. Fuck that. No thank you.

Norman shifted uncomfortably at all the people, who were wise enough to keep away for the most part. Jack pulled himself together slowly, panting and shaking. " _H-hated that..._ "

One Lost One reached out to touch Norman, and was promptly punched into a slop of goo that just groaned. This, reasonably, caused some unrest. Sammy sighed. He put Norman behind him before things got out of hand. "Stop this! We will not fight each other! Norman is here to help!"

" _You actually came?_ " one whispered.

_"That's the shepherd?"_   
_"-the savior?"_   
_"He looks-"_   
_"...Fain?"_

"We are here to kill Henry!" Sammy declared. He wasn't here yet.... _good_. He wasn't too late. The residents of the harbor looked at one another. They nodded a little. When getting a good look at Norman and realizing he could kill someone with one hit, they nodded little harder. Yeah. Yeah, he'd be good at punting Henry. "Hide- the lot of you, hide!" he felt...something. Protective? He wanted to keep these poor sheep from being killed and returned to the well. "Barricade your homes! Hide, before the wolf comes! I- I will bring peace to this cursed studio!"

The group parted. Jack was welcomed with hugs and excited murmuring, surprisingly. Did all of the monsters know each other or something? He caused more unrest when he was asked where he'd been. In the well, then with Sammy. The Lost Ones were angry he'd been killed.

Norman followed Sammy when the crowd dispersed and began to pack into the shambled houses. The lights on the insides turned off, one by one. A few lingered, watching the area. Jack hesitated. " _...should I stay?_ "

"If you wish to put yourself in danger. I doubt you can fight." Sammy pointed out. Jack looked down, frowning at being told that. What? Sammy thought it was true. Jack looked around and pulled a wood plank out of the ground. He swung it around wearily before resting it over one shoulder. "...that works."

Norman looked around in awe, scanning the skyline and all the homes and buildings. "...woah..." he turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. He shuddered. It was...a lot. All packed together and cluttered.

Jack went and perched near a home. He was offered a miner's helmet from another Searcher, but denied it politely and said he'd find his own in due time. Sammy was a little impressed he was willing to hit someone with a piece of wood over a hat. That kind of persistence was admirable. Norman walked off to explore, murmuring something incomprehensible to himself. Sammy stalked off. "Is there a weapon anywhere?"

" _...here_." A Lost One- the one that had been fishing- offered an axe. Where did it even get that? Did it fish it up or something? It was old, but it was way better than nothing. He could somewhat see his reflection in it due to the soft glow his eyes gave off. Sammy thanked it, and it slipped off to find someplace to watch without the risk of getting in the crossfire.

Sammy turned to look over the inky lake. He twirled the axe in his hands and smiled. "Oh, Henry, Henry, Henry..." ...he was in for a surprise. Did Henry even know he was alive? Did he catch word of his coming from the dying breath of a Searcher? He was about to find out. There was only one way to go. Henry had to end up here eventually.

He couldn't wait.


	10. Chapter 10

Henry was tired.

He made it safely to the harbor, as usual. He leaned against the edge of it, then squinted. Something was different. The entire loop felt off and unusual. The enemies late-game were.... _different_ somehow. But...but...this was. This was _too_ new. Something he didn't expect. How could he?

He's tried stalling before. In every section to sit and wait, he's sat and waited for hours and days. He'd been slow with Allison and Tom this loop just to rest mentally. He's stayed longer before- sometimes too long.

This has never happened before. He stared at the harbor, the barge steadily humming closer. There was not a soul in sight except for one. The Lost One that fished wasn't there. Only one person was there, holding an axe. Standing in the open for the first time, _maskless_ , watching him. He was grinning a horrible, Lost One grin.

It was Sammy Lawrence.

* * *

Sammy was indescribably pleased at seeing Henry Stein. The shock and horror on his face as the barge docked. He gripped a Gent pipe he had as a weapon and stepped out of the barge. "S-Sammy...?"

"Oh, so you recognize me!" Sammy called, all too gleeful to finally be here, confronting the second greatest enemy in the studio. He gripped the axe with both hands. He was shaking, anticipating Henry's first move. "You horrible, heartless creature! You killer of many! You...you awful thing!" he found words couldn't describe the alien loathing he felt towards Henry. Since when did he become so empathetic? He tensed up when Henry stepped towards him, then-

Ah, Norman! He stepped out from behind a building and shrieked at the sight of Henry. Henry nearly dropped the pipe, eyes wide. "Wh-what?!" then he backed up. Sammy looked back at Norman, the grin not leaving his face, and nodded.

Norman broke into a full-on sprint at Henry, static filling the air. Henry threw himself to the side away from them both and nearly fell off the docks. "Y-you- it died! I watched Bendy kill it!" he stammered, gripping his weapon tight.

"Think again!" Sammy ran at him, raising his axe. He saw Jack slip into view, his 'eyes' widening.

"Hey! That's _my_ hat!" Jack looked insulted. Henry was indeed wearing an ink-stained bowler hat. Even Sammy found it familiar- it was Jack's, alright.

"I KILLED YOU!" Henry yelled. He took off the hat he'd stolen and threw it at Jack like a frisbee. He caught it and promptly put it on, pissed off still.

Three against one. The odds were very, very good. Norman spun around, locked onto Henry again, and charged like a mad bull. In almost clear, buzzing English, he yelled, " _THIEF_!" It visibly jarred Henry, who ran further into the clearing. He swung his Gent pipe, narrowly missing Sammy.

Sammy swung his axe blindly, cackling. He caught Henry by the arm, a spray of...ink...flying. So he didn't even bleed blood! Truly, an unholy monster! "Die, die, die!" He hissed like a feral cat, for a moment forgetting that he had other fighting alongside him. It was just him and the damn man.

Jack got in a good hit to Henry's shins, and he fell back. He held his pipe to block Sammy's axe. Norman was screaming somewhere, rapidly gaining. He kept overshooting and skidding by them, as if overexcited to get revenge.

Henry's breathing grew labored, eyes widening. He kicked Sammy off and rolled, hitting Jack in the side and knocking him over. He groaned. Sammy jumped in front of Jack, shielding him, and swung at him.

He spun around, hearing Norman, and got an idea. He angled it and jabbed it at him- right in the already shattered lens. Sparks exploded outwards, for a moment threatening to start a fire.

Norman went down and brought the Gent pipe with him, clutching his 'face' and screaming eerily like a human. He convulsed in pain, shards of lightbulb scattering the ground.

The yell Sammy let out didn't sound human- it sounded more like a pissed off Searcher. His axe slipped from his hands and he jumped at him, bringing them both down. "How _dare_ you touch him!" he punched Henry across the face, and his thin wireframe glasses, already cracked badly, fell off. Sammy put all his weight on him and prepared to hit him again.

Henry was breathing hard. He grabbed Sammy's fist before it could hit him, grabbing his other arm. Sammy flinched at the pressure on his hurt arm and started thrashing against it. "You monster! You killed them all! You horrible beast!" He wrapped his hands around Henry's neck.

" _SAMMY! LOOK OUT-_ " Jack suddenly screamed, but it was too late.

He heard something run up to him, and something was buried into his back. Pain blinded him briefly, and Henry kicked him off. Dizzy, he looked up and saw...a Boris? A Boris with a mechanical arm, holding an axe. There was a woman behind him that looked like Alice Angel.

Sammy got up, backing away. He was dripping, he could feel it. His 'blood' gushed down his back. He was breathing hard and could barely think.

 _Something had tried to kill him. And failed. Something he had to kill back, to hurt, to rip apart._ Almost insane, shaking, he looked between the Boris and Henry. Which one should he kill first?

He lunged at the Boris, sounding an awful lot like a rouge Lost One, and clawed at it. It drove the axe into his side and he screamed. He didn't stop. Jack was screaming- screaming for help. Then he threw himself at the Boris, wrapping himself around it and hitting it hard. Jack was immediately thrown off and impaled with the axe.

Norman was getting up. He was panting, touching were his light had been. Blind and deaf, he stood up and turned around. He was absolutely gone to the world, stumbling and starting to make that awful cry again. Sammy became irrationally distressed- His people! His _friends_! They were getting hurt!

The Alice approached Norman and...what was she holding? Swords? She raised one above her head, fully intending to end him-

"DON'T FUCKING TOUCH HIM!" Sammy launched himself at her, tackling her down. They slid over the ink-caked floor. He was bleeding, Henry was bleeding, Jack was bleeding- it was everywhere. He took Norman by the hand and yanked him over, not caring if he realized who was touching him or not. Norman, thankfully did, grasping his forearm and getting the gist. He grabbed Alice, who screamed, and punched her.

Boris, apparently mute, somehow looked enraged with his soft cartoon face. He ripped the axe out of Jack, and ran at them. He angled the axe wrong and hit him upside the head with the broad side. Norman slumped over, out cold. Sammy turned on him. Boris raised his axe and kneed Sammy in the stomach. Already badly hurt, he collapsed to his knees. Thick ink poured from his wounds. His eyes fluttered and he suddenly felt light-headed.

"Wait!" Henry called. Boris hesitated, and Sammy blacked out.

* * *

He came-to tied to a support beam.

He squirmed, only to feel like he was falling apart. He focused on _not_ melting into a puddle, breathing hard. Everything hurt.

He heard Norman- lord, what were they doing to him? He looked over and saw him bound in thick rope, his arms pinned to his sides. He kept thrashing his head side to side and kicking. The Boris held him up, while the Alice struggled to replace the shattered lightbulb.

Where was Jack? A chill went up his spine and not seeing him. Sammy looked around, starting to squirm. The wood stake he was tied to groaned. The house it was supporting creaked.

 _Henry_. Henry was suddenly in front of him. Sammy spat at him. "Let me go!"

"Sammy, listen-"

"Let Norman go!" Sammy heard his friend's shrieks dying out to shaky breaths. Norman was starting to grow still, and that scared him.

"How did you... Ugh!" Henry rubbed the bridge of his nose out of frustration. He looked over at Alice, who kept smacking Norman in an effort to get him to stay still. "Hey, Allison! Bring him over here!"

'Allison' motioned for the Boris to haul Norman over. Sammy strained against the tops again- he wanted to assure him it was okay, that he would be safe. To his surprise, Henry began to untie him. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Why are you untying him?" Allison snapped. The Boris suddenly had the axe again, glaring. "In case you forgot, he tried to kill us all!"

"I'm aware! But he can get the Projectionist to calm down, and frankly I believe that's the bigger threat here!"

Sammy shoved Allison out of the way and grabbed Norman by the arm, speaking even though he was deaf. "Calm down. It's me. It's okay. Calm down. They're trying to fix you." He glared at Allison. She hadn't been doing it well. He began to untie him, despite how that might get him knocked out again.

Norman reached up and grabbed him by the wrist almost painfully. He traced his hand up his arm, grazing over the scratch(why hadn't that gone away? It still made an indent in his bicep that was seemingly permanent) and settling on near jaw. " _Sammy_?" Somehow a whisper, in a warped way. Sammy nodded. He could feel that, at least.

Norman let his hands drop and slumped. Sammy traced the rim of the projector's lens. "Pass me the lightbulb."

Allison hesitated, but did so. Henry got right to the point. "Why is he alive? He had his head ripped off in front of me!"

"Ah. I fixed him, no thanks to the demon." He found it surprisingly easy to speak. Maybe he was too preoccupied with Norman. Maybe it was because he refused to look them in the eye. "Where is Jack?"

"Oh. I..." He heard the hesitation in the wolf's tone. The guilt.

"..." Sammy paused his work. Disgusting. Of course the wolf kills such a kind, tolerant, defenseless...man. Jack Fain didn't bear any ill will. He just wanted what was rightfully his. "If he doesn't return from the well soon, wolf, there will be hell to pay." Sammy didn't have it in him to beat the daylights out of Henry. Not right now, when he was so weak.

He hoped Jack would be able to pull himself together before he was lost.

"I understand," was all Henry said. No apology, just those two soft words. He refused to look at him.

Sammy clicked the bulb into place tiredly. It turned on, faded at first, before brightening to its full power. He was used it it by now. It was comforting.

"Tell me. Why am I not dead?" He asked as Norman clung to him, heaving.

"Yeah, why isn't he dead?" Allison asked bitterly. So openly hostile. So full of hate.

"I have my reasons." Henry said simply. "That I will not explain right now."

The Boris stalked up to Henry and placed the axe at his neck. Henry frowned.

"Tom. Listen. You don't want to know, trust me. None of you need to know why I-"

A heartbeat. Faint, but Sammy could hear it. Anything Henry was saying was tuned out. He remembered a time where he eagerly awaited that sound. He could hear it a mile away.

Sammy looked up. The ceiling was rumbling, then it began to rain tiny droplets of ink. Norman was on his feet in a second, stumbling. He whirled around in every direction, raking his hands over his head. "No, no, _no_ -" it devolved into static. Could he hear it, too? The heartbeat could barely be considered sound, thrumming in Sammy's head, constant and borderline painful. Could Norman feel the demon's approach?

"What is it?" Allison asked. "What's wrong with it?"

"The demon-" Sammy began, his exhaustion giving way to dread, and saw their expressions change when they heard it, too. Tom lowered the axe and frowned, looking skywards. A fat drop of ink landed on his nose.

Then the Lost Ones began to stampede in a mob of blind panic. First murmurs of worry, then screaming. They burst out of hiding, looking around, shaking, sprinting in every direction or melting into a corner. The chorus of noise was loud, but Sammy spoke over it, almost to himself:

"The Ink Demon is here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter may be the last one, but don't worry! It will come with good news :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh. Major announcement. I didn't plan this at all, to be blunt. I had a fun what-if, and I wanted to keep going. I didn't, and still don't 100%, have an ending for this. Oops. In all of the stories I've read, either Bendy or Joey are defeated in a blaze of action- I... didn't have that. I made this up quickly, but it works!
> 
> But this is where that good news comes in:  
> About halfway through the story, I started changing that could happen, to the point I would be unable to implement it now. I adore this concept, but I can improve it. Which is why this particular update was later than the others- I was distracted with the new concept and toying with a full story(also, my laptop decided to break, and this was written entirely on mobile-). Toying with new conflicts, new arcs, of a tale possibly longer than these few chapters. With a slower pace, to better build character relationships. I've done this ship wrong here, haha. It needs more time to develop with these two idiots fumbling around.
> 
> So, a shiny new story will be out soon, with a more stable...everything. I finished this best I could so I won't leave work unfinished.
> 
> Thanks for supporting this little mess of a story so far. It really encouraged me to keep writing after a long time of not doing so. See y'all soon.

It sounded like the whole cavern was coming down. It was either the demon, or the panicking Lost Ones. Their panicked half-screams, frail voices unable to fully yell, only picked up as they tried to find an escape.

"You! You said you'd kill it!" One grabbed Sammy by the arm. "Do something!"

He wasn't exactly prepared, but he couldn't let them get hurt. Norman had become fixated on a far wall, a boarded up doorway. His light made whatever was on the other side glisten. Ink? "Hide. Hide! All of you, HIDE!"

"That's a good idea, Sa-"

Sammy grabbed Henry by the arm so tight it hurt. "Not you. You're a horrid creature, you know that, right?" He asked, then continued, "I believe you can be a useful tool against the demon-"

"He's old! Are you crazy?!" Allison snapped, taking Tom by the mechanical arm. "He barely survived his way here! Look at him!"

"I'm not..." Henry shook his head, having to squint without his glasses. "Okay. Okay, I know what to do, we just have to lead Bendy away from here, and..."

A horrid roar split the air. It was _wet_. The Lost Ones were retreating again. The doorway was demolished, and...what came through wasn't his god.

It _was_ , but it wasn't. It was less human and more monster, hefting its weight on its arms. It was muscular with a maw full of teeth. It snarled and snapped, digging into the ground. What was that? What happened to it?

Norman shrieked back at it, and for a moment Sammy felt a flash of fear. He grabbed him by the hand. "Don't-" he hissed, and Norman looked back at him with a head tilt. No. That thing would tear him apart!

Thankfully, he didn't charge off. Bendy, or the Ink Demon, however...

"Dodge!" Henry snatched Allison and Tom, running. "He can't turn when he's charging!"

Something crashed from the ceiling. Ink was congealing and falling from the roof, crushing the docs or landing with a wet splat nearby. A poor Searcher was birthed from it by bad luck, looking dazed. It was immediately squashed by the charging demon.

Sammy was yanked away by Norman, watching as the demon raced past them, boiling ink smoldering off of it in wisps of smoke. It skidded to a halt a far ways away. It spun around, bristling. "What happened to it?!" Sammy called. This was not the thing that had harmed him. It was worse.

"Hell if I know!" Henry called. He was barely heard over the chaos. The ink was forming a layer in the ground, squishing and sloshing as things crumbled. "This hasn't happened before!" _No shit!_

The demon charged past them, thick claws tearing up the inky, now mushy earth. It was _smoking_ , the ink bubbling and popping in a hot, sweltering mess. It skidded at the shore, splashing into the lake up to its waist. It was hard to tell where the inky ground dropped into the lake itself. It turned back around and hissed like a feral cat.

"What did you do to piss it off?" Allison asked. She gripped her blades tight, circling around the demon.

"Exist??" Henry shrugged.

"I vowed to kill it. That might've done something to piss it off." Sammy noted dryly. Tom gave him a funny look, disbelieving, and made a _'why?'_ motion. "Look, I was mad, okay?! And I'm _still_ mad! And I can and will _kill_ the demon-"

"Norman-!" Henry suddenly looked panicked. He was pale. Oddly, Sammy wondered if he has ever told him that was the Projectionist's true name.

"Shit!" Sammy processed that he was gone, and Norman had stalked towards the demon, his light directly on the thing's face. No weapons, no items, just....him. No angry static, either, just...quiet. "NORMAN!"

The demon snarled at him, but he only got closer, tense. It pawed at the earth, ink parting under its massive, blunt claws. It bristled and clawed at itself against the light. It shook like a wet dog, leaning heavily on one arm, and gurgled.

Then an axe was buried in the arm used to hold itself up. Tom had appeared- he was extremely good at sneaking around, it seemed. He watched the demon stumble, trying to catch itself, then fail and fall into the ink lake. Allison was behind Tom, and sank her blade up to the hilt into its eyeless face.

"Oh, what the hell." Henry pulled him aside. "Sammy, listen to me. I've wanted to try this for a while. It might kill Bendy. It could end this. You have to-"

"I _have to_ help Norman! Unhand me!" He snapped, vividly remembering first finding the projector, still leaking ink. "That thing will rip him apart! It's done it before!" He was panicked. When had he begun to panic? When had begun to care? About Norman, hell, even about the Lost Ones?

He ran. It was all he could really do. He tore a wooden plank out of the ink, raised it, and slammed it into Bendy's disgusting face as hard as his hatred let him. "That's for betraying me!" He pulled it back, the ink sticking to it, and struck it again. "And that's for Norman!"

Bendy snarled and snapped the plank out of his hands, chewing it before swinging his head sharply and gagging it up. Sammy took a step back before it could take his face off. Something was clinging to his leg.

An arm. Many arms, in fact. Clawing at him, their grips slipping off. He kicked them back into the well. The well was rising, overflowing with all the ink.

Norman had his own grabbing hands to deal with. He kicked them aside as if it were nothing, then clocked Bendy in the face. Ink splattered off in chunks. He screamed something that was too mutilated by static to hear properly.

Allison had hopped onto a crate, cutting down the feral half-formed Searchers as they tried to claim her. She helped pull Tom up. Their legs were smeared with ink, white and grey mixing and dribbling down into black. Cartoons didn't fare well against ink. Neither did Sammy himself, in all honesty. "Get on high ground! This isn't safe!"

Their voices slipped into his head. The well's prisoners, in an infinitely small cell. It began small. Little tugs. Barely coherent words that he could ignore.

Bendy snarled. He leapt at Allison. Tom punched it hard, making it stumble. Allison drove her sword into its face, joining her other one for a moment, before she yanked it out. "Die, demon!" Her voice barely wavered. She cut into one of Bendy's curling horns, and it threw itself back before it could be cut off.

He noticed the thing was melting into the ink. The Searchers were reaching, pulling at its little legs and clinging to its arms. Even the demon wasn't safe from those tormented souls. Souls that kept crying and clawing at his senses.

Countless, begging rasping voices. Screaming and crying, clawing at the back of his mind. Rising like a flood, drowning out his own thoughts. Sammy tried to ignore it, he really did, but the screaming was becoming too much and he barely felt himself fall to his knees-

Then he was being pulled out of the ink and he could breathe again. Norman had lifted him by the arms, helping him find his footing. The static was something to listen to. Something grounding to distract him from the voices. "N-Norman, th-thank you-"

There was a wet thump as one of the overhangs on a building collapsed. It was flat and the drizzle of ink slid off it like water.

Norman shoved him onto the metal, where it wasn't caked in ink and voices. He shook his head violently, his hands flying to clutch at the sides of the projector. He stumbled and a tremor went though him that nearly had him fall over. He groaned, a low drone cutting through the sound.

"Christ, get on here-!" Sammy reached out and took him by the arm, pulling him onto the sheet. Norman slumped against the side of the building, still clutching his head. Even he wasn't immune to the well's voices.

"'ey!" A Lost One, particularly Irish despite its voice garbled by ink, hefted itself out of a window. It was standing on a chair, since the inside of the building was beginning to flood. It jabbed a finger at them. "Don't ya _dere_ bring tat devil over 'ere! He wants _you_ dead 'n gone, not me!"

"Oh, why don't you _help_ instead of leave us to die?!" Sammy snapped. "It's going to mow this whole place down!"

"Ah, for fooks' sake- _here_!" Something was being thrust into his hands. An axe. The studio had quite the supply of those. "I ain't gonna be cuttin' wood anytime soon! Go cut 'is head off or sometin, just- oh!" As if playing the floor is lava, the Lost One leapt out of sight whilst taking great care to avoid the ink. "INCOMING!"

Sammy wheeled around to see Bendy pawing, ready to charge. Norman was only just recovering from the well's touch. "Sorry." He hissed, grabbing him by the hand and bolting right as Bendy lunged. He'd rather not get flattened, even if it meant chancing hell!

The voices were screaming. It hit him like a wall. Norman stumbled and nearly brought them both down. He drew in a sharp breath, stumbling, before the screams turned away from him.

"The hand!" Allison. Her mouth was agape, her eyes wide. Tom lightly nudged her behind him, staring.

The hand that had tormented them on the boat ride was up. And it had a grip on Bendy. The demon screeched, digging into the ground.

The voices ebbed. Norman grabbed him, as if just realizing where they were, and pulled him back, turning him so they were face to face. "Are you okay?" His voice was rough. Slightly slurred.

"I don't think any of us are!" Sammy hissed, wishing Norman could hear him. "I should be asking you that!" He nodded for Norman's sake and turned to see arms lifting out of the ground. Many dozens of hands reaching, joining the large one in grabbing at the demon.

It was mesmerizing. He was standing in ink, but the well wasn't focused on him. Bendy collapsed, the hand making indents in its back as it was dragged back into the lake. The hands, now forming half-complete Searchers, tore off handfuls of ink. He could see Bendy trying to fix itself with the ink around it, but it was actively working against the monster to tear it apart.

"SAMMY!"

Henry. He'd forgotten about him. Sammy turned to nearly get hit in the face by a film reel. Norman caught it, jolting and making an unpleasant noise, and handed it to him. It had a strip of tape over it, labeled 'THE END'.

Henry himself looked sickly pale. The ink was unkind to him, with hands tugging at him and keeping his feet from moving, and he had nothing to defend himself against the handful of Searchers hitting him. "Destroy it! Trust me!"

"What the fuck is this?"

"I- I'll explain, just- please! I've tried breaking it before- it doesn't change anything! This isn't meant to happen! Break it! Break the loop!" He had a slightly unhinged look in his eyes, desperate. "Please!"

Bendy roared, getting a hold on itself, and then Sammy was being pushed. He saw Norman get barreled over. Bendy looked torn apart, and the giant hand was now slamming where it had once been. It held Norman down.

"Don't you dare!" Sammy raised the axe with one hand. Bendy turned, growling softly. It was watching him. It was looking at him, despite lacking eyes. It jerked its head at the reel he was holding.

"...this? You want this?" Sammy asked. Why was it so lucid all of the sudden? Bendy bowed its head. A yes. It pressed down on Norman, who was thrashing and kicking. He screamed something that was too muffled to hear. "Let him go!"

A shake of the head. Supporting itself with the hand atop Norman, keeping its claws too close to his neck for his liking, it reached out to take the reel.

"DON'T YOU DARE DO THAT!" Henry screamed. He was trying to move, but was shoved down by a Searcher.

Sammy held the film reel out for Bendy to take.

It snatched it from him and suddenly forced Norman's head to the side. "DON'T YOU DARE LET THAT REEL PLAY!" Henry sounded close to tears. "Don't you _fucking_ dare, Lawrence-" he broke down coughing, and Sammy didn't turn to see what had become of him.

Bendy tried to push the reel into Norman's head. Norman sounded like he was in pain, trying to jerk his head away, but it merely held him down with more pressure. It lifted it, ignoring how the hands were back, and-

Sammy slammed the axe into the reel as hard as he could, right between the 'THE' and 'END'.

It split in two and, along with the axe, dropped into the grabbing hands and were pulled down into the abyss.

Nothing happened. He could hear Henry beginning to laugh hysterically.

Bendy whirled around to face him, and yet Sammy was looking at its hand, so close to Norman's neck. He barely had time to fear he'd just gotten him killed before the demon let go and lunged at him.

He was flattened against the ink. He looked up at hell itself and its gaping maw and Allison's blade still wedged in its disgusting face. He could feel its hot breath, reeking of ink, against his face.

He didn't want to die, he wasn't ready to accept that he was about to get his head bitten off, but at least Norman was safe.

There was a _pop_ , and then half of Bendy's face was gone.

"DID'JA THINK WE'D LET CHA DIE?! This whole place goes down if the devil lives! Ya seem ta know whatcha doin'!" The strangely Irish Lost One. The name Shawn popped into his head. Yes, Shawn Flynn. That was Shawn Flynn's voice. "Throw everythin' ya got, fellas!"

"This is...a bad idea!" An unknown person shouted. An axe was thrown. Bendy lifted its head just in time to get hit handle-first in the shoulder. It stumbled back and moved to pull it out, snarling. Sammy sat up and stumbled to his feet.

Shawn Flynn had a gun. A tommy gun, but a gun nonetheless. He was half out of his window, sitting on its ledge. He reloaded. "Chase dis bastard out!" He fired twice.

The first shot went through Bendy's horn, making it collapse on itself. The second shot missed, making ink near Sammy's foot explode out.

Sammy chose to get out of the lime of fire and darted to Norman's side. He helped him up. "Jesus, Norman! Can you stand? Is your speaker busted?" He couldn't help but ask.

"Ya....stupid genius..." Was the response he got, muffled by the ink covering the speaker. One side of Norman's head was covered in ink. He stumbled when Sammy hugged him, but then reciprocated it. "'m fine, 'm...shaken, but...fine. What...what the hell....did you do?" He didn't know why he hugged him or why he was shaking. He did know, actually, he knew but he didn't know the words to describe how he felt. He just wanted to stay there.

He eventually pulled away. He could be happy Norman wasn't dead later. Just as he got a full view of Bendy being harassed by the well, he saw Allison throw her sword like a spear. It went into its neck, sticking out of the other side. And yet it still wasn't dead.

Shawn fired again. It hit Bendy in the hand, blasting off half of it. Then, partially, the demon slipped into the well. The arms reached out, a chorus of voices crying in what might've been triumph. Sammy couldn't tell if they were in his head or if the Searchers were actually screaming in joy. They pulled it by the arm and he watched as it vanished deeper than physically possible.

A Lost One was standing on the roof of one building. It held a ball, one that might've been used in Bendy Land. It tossed it from hand to hand before pulling back and throwing it hard.

It struck Bendy in the back. The beast was roaring now, slamming the one arm it still had use over against the ink. It went through, and it nearly vanished into the well.

One arm lifted back to view, dripping and sloppy, and its face twisted into something similar to rage. It raised its clawed hand to the air as its body was dragged under. The ink was bubbling and frothing around it.

Another Lost One perched on a balcony. It had pried up a wooden board from somewhere. It still had nails in it. It threw it at Bendy, striking it in the head. Behind the Lost One was another one, this one holding a hammer. It threw it with an angry shout, and raised its fists when it hit the demon.

He watched. Norman watched, his light illuminating Bendy in a neat square of faint gold. They all watched as it was dragged under in a mess of hands and twisting bodies.

The ink bubbled for a few moments, then stilled. Nothing was left behind.

Somewhere nearby, part of a building collapsed.

The giant hand slipped back into the inky lake.

The ink began to drain. The well quieted. It stopped raining. Allison and Tom stepped off of their safe crate. Allison's hair was dripping over her face and back. Tom's ears were dripping and black ink rolled over his once white face. His own ink dribbled over his robotic arm.

"...what the hell just happened?" Norman whispered. He was looking at Sammy.

"Did we kill tae Ink Demon?" Shawn called, lowering his gun. He had a nail in his shoulder. Part of the building he was in, particularly the upper floors, had caved in due to the weight of the ink. It streaked down the building's side, painting it black.

"I...don't know." Sammy mumbled. "...what was that reel? Henry?"

He turned to see Henry laying on his back, unmoving. A Searcher was pawing at him. "HEY!" Allison yelled at it. "Back off the old man!"

Sammy let her and Tom deal with him. He didn't want to know. He looked back up at Norman. "...this place is a wreck." He grumbled, reaching up to wipe his speaker off. He surveyed the area. Yep. A wreck.

"...hey... Sammy?" His light was back on him. "...what was that...reel for?"

He shrugged. He honestly didn't know what it was or why Henry was so worked up about it. The mad ramblings of a wolf. Probably nothing.

"...is it over?"

Sammy shrugged again. Then, after a moment, he nodded. "...yeah...yeah, I don't think the demon will come back." He looked away. He was smiling. "...yeah. We're okay."

Norman lightly touched his arm. He pulled Sammy into a hug. "...ya look like ya need it." He said, muffled. He hugged him back, deciding to just relax. Whatever the hell just happened- he didn't want to think about it. He rest his head against Norman's chest and closed his eyes.

They stayed like that for a while, in the stillness of the harbor. It was nice.

A soft gurgle drew Sammy's attention. He looked over, only half interested. Something was coming out of an ink puddle, disoriented.

Jack looked around, rubbing his head. "Eugh... What...what happened?"

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've sat down and really typed something out. I feel rusty, but I'm proud of how this had come out. Comments are welcomed! I want to know what you all think of this and how I can improve it.


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